Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk
by Maxiekat
Summary: A chance meeting at a NYC coffee shop leads to old friends reconnecting. Jack hasn't seen Kathy in years. Back when they were teens, she had a huge crush on him, but he was a tough kid and she was nerdy and shy. Would things be different this time around?
1. Chapter 1

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_, _Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk_ by Rufus Wainwright, or _The World Spins Madly On_ by The Weepies.

This story is tied into my one shot "Gonna Be a Rock N' Roll Star". If you haven't read it yet, read it after you finish this chapter. The time frame of the present day storyline is a year after the shooting and takes place after the events in my main story. Don't worry, I won't spoil anything from that one since it's still in progress (well, now you know Jack doesn't die, lol).

**Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk**

**Chapter One**

_I watch the stars from my window sill  
The whole world is moving and I'm standing still_

It was one of those moments where the stars aligned, or maybe it was that fate stepped in, or was it that her prayers were answered? Whatever cliché you wanted to call it, the fact was that if it wasn't for the guy who pushed past her and made her stumble into a pile of slush that then squished into her Chucks, causing her to stop as she tried unsuccessfully to get it out of her sneaker before it melted into her sock, Kathy would have never seen it.

She didn't even realize there was a coffee shop in that particular spot despite walking past it nearly every day for the past four years; but in a city of thousands of coffee shops, you couldn't really blame her for not noticing it.

The ice soaking into her sock momentarily forgotten, she stared at the chalkboard sign propped against the open doorway. Her mind had to be playing tricks on her. But there it was, scrolled across the black surface in that cheerful handwriting that seemed to be a requirement for every chalkboard sign in the city. His name. In purple chalk. That part made her smile, thinking about how much grief his brother would give him if he saw his name in purple chalk.

Jack Mercer.

That name still did funny things to her stomach. Suddenly, it was like she was thirteen again and he was protecting her honor, or whatever silly fantasy she had cooked up in her brain when he'd punched Matt Wilcox in the eye. Kathy could barely think about him back then without blushing madly and stumbling over her words. She was starting to realize that not much had changed.

It had been years since she'd seen him. Years since she'd given him any thought beyond a moment or two of nostalgia. So much had changed. She was a different person – the braces came off, the glasses were smaller and she'd finally figured out more or less what to do with her hair. Add an independence she didn't feel until she moved to New York on her own, and she bore little resemblance to the awkward girl in middle school. She doubted he would remember her.

Someone pushed into her from behind, making her realize she was standing in the middle the usual rush of people moving from point A to point B as quickly as possible, and she was going to get trampled soon if she didn't get out of the way. It was a split second decision, one that had probably been decided for her ages ago by whoever controlled the universe – wow, her creative writing professor would be cringing at her sentimentality tonight – and an unknown force propelled her past the sign, through the door, and into the warmth of the coffee shop.

The place was cute with a hipster vibe that seemed authentic rather than manufactured by some interior designer who decided that neon lights and black walls equaled trendy. No, this place was comfy and rumpled with scarred wood tables placed haphazardly around the room and overstuffed couches lining the walls. Colorful artwork cluttered up the walls in every available spot; little business cards with prices were tucked inside each frame. It was just the kind of place she loved discovering when she took the time to do more in the city than go to class and work.

She took a seat with a clear view of the stage but still relatively hidden and off to the side. She dropped her messenger bag on the floor and took her gloves off, stuffing them into the pockets of her coat, looking around as she did so.

The place was almost full – not bad for three nights before Christmas. Most people she knew were on their way home or out shopping before heading on their way home. That was one thing about being a college student, if you had no home to go to, things got pretty lonely around holiday time. A friend from school had offered for Kathy to go see her parents with her, but she'd tried that a couple years ago and felt dreadfully out of place. Plus, her cat Horatio hated change and spent the whole vacation pulling his hair out. No, the two of them were much better off spending Christmas together, alone in their tiny loft above the bookstore. Plus, she finally decided to trade in her supermarket points for the free turkey this year instead of the tray of lasagna, so she was either going to burn the place down or have a nice home cooked dinner. She double checked her fire extinguisher the other day, just to be on the safe side.

There was a poet on stage … reading poetry … kind of badly. She cringed slightly as she listened, the writer inside of her dying a little. She loved poetry and what this girl was doing to it should be a crime. A waitress stepped up to her table and smiled, asking Kathy what she wanted. _Oh, right_, Kathy thought, _I'm in a coffee shop. _

"Um … chai?"she said, though it came out more like a question.

"Size?" the waitress asked.

"Venti," she said without thinking and the waitress sighed. "Sorry," Kathy quickly added. "Habit."

"So, extra large. Anything else?" Kathy shook her head no and started to remove her layers of outerwear. She unwound the multicolored scarf from around her neck and let it pool on the table, next was her parka, and finally her knit hat. Her hand flew to her hair just as the poet wrapped up to half-hearted applause and someone in an apron stepped up on the tiny stage and proceeded to introduce the next act. Her hair was a flattened mess, but there was nothing she could do about it, because the next act was already up on stage and sitting down on the stool and pulling the strap of the acoustic guitar over his shoulder and adjusting the microphone and testing it and … making her heart leap into her throat.

Clichés be damned, Jack Mercer still took her breath away.

XxXxXxXxXx

"Do people call you Kat? 'Cause it should be more like Dog. Woof, doggy. Woof."

Kathy clutched her books closer to her chest and tried to block out the words, but it was so hard. She felt her eyes start to fill with tears but she willed them away. Being called a dog was one thing, a cry baby would be something she'd never live down.

Matt Wilcox had decided that year that she would be his special target. She had no idea why. Nothing had changed – she had braces and glasses last year and he'd never even given her a second glance. Now it was a constant chorus of barking from him and his dumb friends, and to make matters worse, the bus routes changed and now he was on the same one as her.

There was nothing worse than climbing those steps every morning, dreading the inevitable. She could feel his beady little eyes as soon as he spotted her and his rude comments would start before the bus driver even had a chance to close the door. It didn't help that she didn't really have any friends on the bus – well, it really didn't help that she didn't have any friends at school at all, not since Lisa moved away over the summer.

After school was just as bad as the mornings because they had to wait as a group for their turn to board and, as luck would have it, they were the last bus in line – always. It was like Matt thought of things to say all day just so that he'd have new material for the wait. She'd just stand there, quiet and still, as he dished it out. Everyone else would stand apart from her – some would glance apologetically at her, but not do anything. The others would snicker and laugh, not joining in, but just as hurtful.

She wished she was strong. She wished she had the guts to just tell him to go to hell and spit in his face. But she knew that would just backfire and make him laugh harder.

Suddenly, Matt reached out and grabbed her arm, making her drop her books.

"Let me go," she cried out, trying to pull her arm from his grasp.

"Stop being such a bitch and just bark once for me," he said, taking a step toward her.

Something took over and she stepped down hard on his foot, but Keds weren't much of a match for leather Nikes and he just laughed in her face.

"She said to let her go," a voice said, cutting through the laughter.

"Beat it, Mercer. This doesn't concern you," Matt spat, not taking his eyes off Kathy. His grip was hurting her arm and she was certain she was going to have bruises.

Kathy glanced behind Matt and her gaze locked with that of her would-be rescuer, the only person in the three weeks since school started who actually had the guts to step up and say something.

Jack Mercer.

The only guy in the seventh grade to wear a leather jacket and play guitar and smoke cigarettes under the bleachers. He was tough, and the rumor around school was that he killed a guy back in the fourth grade for trying to take his milk money. Yeah, Jack Mercer was pretty awesome.

Jack tilted his head to the side and hooked his thumb in his belt loop. If it wasn't for the fingers biting into her arm, Kathy was certain she would have sighed at that moment.

"Let her go, Wilcox. You look pretty fuckin' stupid right now, you know," Jack said as he took a step forward.

Without warning, Matt released Kathy's arm and she stumbled over her feet and landed hard on the sidewalk. "Happy, Mercer? I let the loser go."

Actually, the word 'go' was more of a 'g' sound about to become the word 'go' but not quite making it because just as he was saying it, Jack's fist connected with his eye and sent him flying backwards onto his ass, right next to Kathy on the sidewalk.

"You're the only loser I see here, Wilcox," Jack said coolly and the kids who had gathered around to watch the short fight started to laugh. This made Matt's face turn bright red, then purple. It actually kind of matched his eye, which was quickly swelling shut. Kathy doubted he even noticed.

Scared he might go after her again, she started to try to stand, but winced when she realized she must have twisted her ankle on the way down. A hand appeared in front of her, fingers open and palm up, and she glanced up. It was Jack and he smiled. She tentatively placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

"Are you okay?" he asked and she nodded dumbly, suddenly unable to speak, not sure where all her words went.

He bent down and picked up the books she'd dropped. He handed them back to her and stood there awkwardly, waiting for something, probably for her to say thank you, but she couldn't get her mind to work. She just stared and he just chewed on his lip and rocked back on his heels. Suddenly, a car horn sounded, followed by a shout of, "Jackiepoo, say goodbye to your girlfriend and move your fuckin' ass."

Jack let out a breath and groaned. "Uh, that's my brother." He looked over his shoulder and then back at her. The guy in the car honked again and Jack grimaced. "See ya around, um …"

The bus pulled up and Jack stepped back, taking a couple of steps in the direction of the car that was waiting for him. "K-Kathy," she stuttered, suddenly finding her voice. "My name is Kathy." But she couldn't be certain he heard. He was in the car and had the door shut before she could finish the sentence.

Matt Wilcox got up from the ground and glared at her with his good eye while he held his hand over the other one that was already starting to bruise. "You got lucky, Fido."

He stormed onto the bus and Kathy realized everyone else was still staring at her. She brushed her hand through her messy hair and straightened her glasses. Her ankle hurt a little, and as she limped to the bus she could hear the whispering that started up behind her.

"Did you see how Jack Mercer just flattened Matt?"

"Why would he do that?"

"Do you think he likes her?"

"I heard he was in prison for stabbing a guy."

Kathy couldn't believe it, but she was actually excited to go to school the next day. She wondered how hard it would be to find Jack's locker. And she remembered that they had math and art together. Maybe she could help him with his math homework, and she could ask him about the art project she'd been having trouble with, and …

Sighing, she leaned her head against the grimy bus window and smiled.

XxXxXxXxXx

The chai sat forgotten, growing cold as Kathy stared at the stage. Her breath caught in her chest, like the smallest movement would shatter the moment. She couldn't explain it – it felt like her heart was breaking but she didn't know why. The Jack she remembered never played like this, never sang like this. It was beautiful and rough and haunting.

After all these years, she figured she would have been the one to change the most.

She was beginning to think she was wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

Note: I don't own _Four Brother_ or _Golden _ by My Morning Jacket

This chapter is connected to the one shot "Gonna Be a Rock N' Roll Star". If you haven't already, you might want to read that before you start this chapter. And I added a little bit to the end of Chapter One - nothing major, just a short scene with present day Kathy. Also, thank you so much for all the reviews, you guys are awesome.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

_  
Watchin' a crowd roll in. Out go the lights, it begins.  
A feelin' in my bones I've never felt before  
_

It was a Mercer family tradition that some of your best thinking happened in the bathroom. Even if that bathroom was tiny as hell and painted bright purple and had a cracked mirror.

Jack let out a breath as he braced his hands against the sink and studied his reflection in the mirror. The guy looking back at him looked fine – cool and collected – but inside he was a mess and he had no fucking clue why. Being on stage and in front of an audience was one of the only times in his life he didn't have to deal with this shit, one of the only times he didn't have to battle his nerves. Maybe it was that he doing this alone now – no band backing him, no lead singer taking the spotlight – maybe that was what was screwing with his mind and making his hands shake.

He was just being stupid. It's a coffee house with maybe, tops, ten people in it, killing time, more interested in their lattes than in the loser on the stage, moaning into the microphone. Last night's gig had been at a packed bar and he'd gotten through that just fine. The desire to hightail it out of there disappeared once he strummed the first chord and leaned in, closing his eyes as the words took over. He wouldn't even have to do this if he hadn't misjudged how much money he had and spent some of his train ticket money on booze and Christmas presents.

His trip was just supposed to last for a week – long enough to get him past Thanksgiving and all the crap that dredged up. Bobby had accused him of running away, and he didn't even bother to argue with him. He figured he'd earned the right to run.

Once he'd arrived, the city pulled him back in and the week easily turned into a month. He'd forgotten how much he loved it, the noise, and the rush, and the crush of people. New York was always alive, always charged with an energy that Jack missed back in Detroit.

He didn't have the best life when he lived in New York before, always struggling to make ends meet. Days spent working shit jobs to pay the rent on an apartment that was maybe, at best, one step above a cardboard box; nights spent playing gigs at any place they could book – some were good, but most were dives.

But things had been looking up for The Spares just before the shit hit the fan and he got dropped for some chick. Now they were getting airplay on a couple of local stations, the buzz building and he was on his own – a solo act for the first time in his life. He'd toyed with the idea of forming a new band, but something in him had changed. A while back, he'd picked up his guitar and found a singer within himself that he hadn't known was there and try as he might, he couldn't pull himself away from that. Now instead of the hard pulsing beat of punk and hard rock, he found himself looking inward and what came out was much mellower and more personal. It felt like Evelyn was looking over his shoulder, watching him play, smiling proudly as he finally got it right.

There was a loud knock on the door, breaking through his thoughts and he realized his was still leaning against the sink, still staring blankly at the mirror. He quickly turned on the water and cleared his throat. "Uh, give me a sec."

"Dude," the muffled voice on the other side said, "there's only one john in this place, you know."

_Then use the ladies room, jackass_, Jack thought to himself as he ran his hands through his hair, making sure it was just disheveled enough without looking like he just rolled out of the drunk tank. He grabbed his old, secondhand army surplus jacket off the hook on the door, shrugged it on over his faded Clash t-shirt and took one last look at his reflection. "Just a fucking coffee house," he told the guy in the mirror staring back at him; the guy in turn gave him a smirk that let him know he thought he was full of shit.

"Whatever," he said as he pushed the door open.

XxXxXxXxXx

Loosely holding his guitar, he stood off to the side as the poetry-reading chick on stage wrapped things up. The applause she got was unenthusiastic to say the least, but she seemed pleased with herself, even giving a weird little curtsy at the end. Rolling his eyes, he scanned the place, silently counting the number of customers sitting at tables and lounging on couches and overstuffed armchairs.

The turnout wasn't half bad and he was surprised. Apparently more people had come in while he was having his half-assed breakdown in the bathroom. It probably helped that it was cold as fuck outside and sometimes it was more appealing to stop in anyplace with an open door and fresh pot of coffee than to continue on foot to wherever you were headed. It sure as hell wasn't because his name was on a sign propped up outside. It could say "Joe Shmoe" for all the good it did. No one knew who the hell he was; and if he didn't figure out how to calm the fuck down and not spend half his life hyperventilating in bathrooms across America, then no one ever would. His solo career would be over before it even got started. "Told ya so," he could hear Bobby's voice in his head and he tightened his grip on the neck of his guitar.

Still scanning the crowd, his eyes fell on a girl sitting at a table near the back. He had no clue what it was about her that caught his attention, just something that kind of pulled at the back of his brain like a line of a song that was trying to form but was trapped by too much beer and not enough sleep. She seemed average; nothing special - hell, nothing _not_ special, either - just kind of there. He couldn't figure out why he even noticed her in the first place.

Before he had a chance to think about it further, the manager of the coffee shop was up on the tiny platform they called a stage, announcing something into the microphone and motioning over to the corner Jack was standing in. A smattering of applause filled the room and the people who weren't pouring sugar in their coffee or carrying on very important conversations on their cell phones were looking over at him. _Shit, fuck. Right. Time to earn that fifty bucks_, he thought as he made his way over to the stool set up for him on the stage.

He willed his hands to stop shaking as he pulled the guitar strap over his shoulder. He adjusted the microphone and tested it. He should say something – _hey, how y'all doin'?_ – something, anything. But he couldn't get the words past the weight pressing in on his chest, so without any sort of introduction or dedication, he leaned forward, closed his eyes, and started to play.

The change was instantaneous – the fear fled, replaced by the words, and the notes, and the peace he could never describe to anyone when they asked why he liked music so much. Evelyn knew, though. She always knew. The song was for her - it was about love and loss and hope. His brothers would have known in a second, but he'd managed to keep them from coming to any of the gigs he'd recently played back home, so none of them had heard the song.

It was hard being so open in front of strangers now that he was singing about more than just chicks and sex and booze and well, sex. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to sing such personal songs in front of his brothers. They never really gave a shit before, anyway – but the whole almost dying thing put a whole new perspective on the family thing. Bobby would try to be supportive, but he'd inevitably say something incredibly asinine and cruel, something they'd both regret. It was easier to just keep him at arm's length when it came to his music. And Jerry and Angel were both busy with lives of their own, so most of the time a simple, _it's no big deal, if you can't make it; there's always next time_, would be enough to keep them away.

He'd never cared before. Jerry and Angel had been to a couple of shows back in Detroit, before he moved East, but Jack always kind of suspected Evelyn had gently nudged them to get them to go. Bobby … well, Bobby never got the whole music thing to begin with. Creativity was completely lost on him and if he couldn't punch it in the face or set it on fire, then it was just a waste of time. Jack was always the odd one out when it came to the Mercer brothers – _one of these things is not like the other_ – but that was just part of being a family.

His fingers found the notes, falling perfectly. The tune felt organic, almost like he was making it up as he went along, but he knew it by heart. His voice rumbled deep in his chest like the words were locked in deep and struggled to get out. He was so in the moment and playing as though he had become the song that it took the applause to let him know he had finished. Embarrassed, he looked up and nodded his thanks. He reached down and grabbed a bottle of water that was on the floor by his feet. He downed half it as he waited for his buzz coursing through his veins to die down a little bit; his brain felt like he'd taken a hit of some really good shit, but he didn't want to push it and risk crashing.

He let his eyes wander over the crowd as he readjusted the strap on his guitar and moved the microphone a millimeter closer to his mouth. Clearing his throat, he prepared to start the second song, when he noticed her again.

The girl in the back.

She was looking right at him and he felt a wave of … something … wash over him. Their eyes met and the words he was about to sing came to a crashing halt in the back of his throat.

Kathy Price.

Holy shit.

XxXxXxXxXx

He had forgotten all about it until he walked into the cafeteria – then it became the only thing he could think about, like he was a scratched record that was stuck in a groove, the scene from the lockers playing over and over again in his head.

It wasn't like he'd forgotten on purpose. It had happened hours ago, and it was a known fact that his brain didn't really start to work until second period, so he couldn't really be held responsible for any promises he made before homeroom.

Kathy had cornered him – like she'd been cornering him every chance she got for the past two weeks. Somehow, between Jack looking for an escape route and her eyes filling with tears, he'd agreed to have lunch with her.

The whole thing had happened in that weird slow motion where you watch yourself from outside your body; screaming at yourself to stop, but it's no use. The words were out of his mouth and his fate was sealed and he couldn't do anything about it. He needed to toughen up and just tell her to get lost – he bet Angel and Jerry never let girls trick them into stuff like that.

Now he was either going to look like the world's biggest asshole and ignore her, or he was going to paint a giant loser sign on his forehead and go through with it. He still hadn't decided what he was going to do when he got in the lunch line.

The cafeteria was crowded and noisy and part of him was convinced he could just pretend he hadn't seen Kathy, that he tried to find her but had to give up before his tater tots got cold. But that was a load of shit; and besides, the lie wouldn't work after she noticed him looking directly at her table, which of course she did. And even though she had quickly picked up the dog-eared book she had resting on her tray and started reading it, he knew she knew that he knew she saw him.

_Crap_, he thought to himself as he stood there with his lunch tray in his hand, weighing his options. His buddy, Steve, knocked him on the back with his elbow.

"Earth to Jack. You gonna move or are you planning on proposin' to Lunch Lady Marge here and running away together?"

"Huh?" Jack said, coming out of his daze. His face grew hot as he realized everyone in line was staring at him as he stood at the cash register, staring blanking at Marge, who was holding out her hand and cracking her gum in the most evil way imaginable. She didn't look too happy. "Oh, sorry," he mumbled as he fished his money out of his pocket, dropping the crumpled bills onto the counter.

He hurried away as soon as she dropped the change on his tray. Steve was right behind him, laughing like a hyper jackass. "Jack and Margie sittin' in a tree …" he stared to sing and Jack stopped abruptly. Steve almost rammed into his back and barely caught his plate in time, nearly spilling the 'barf-a-roni' all over the floor.

Jack glared at him. "Shut up, man."

"Ah, come on, Mercer. Can't you take a joke?"

"Let me know when you tell one," Jack said flatly and Steve shook his head, a hurt look on his face.

"That was harsh, dude," Steve said as he started walking over to their usual table. Most of the other guys were already there, banging their shit and ogling the girls who walked by, making lewd jokes that were never funny but Jack always laughed anyway. His feet wanted to follow Steve, but he couldn't help looking over at Kathy. Her table was wedged between the bathroom and the trashcans and he wasn't sure how she managed to be completely alone at a table full of other kids.

"Mercer, what the hell?" he heard Steve call after him as he went in the opposite direction – headed for the Loserville side of the lunch room.

Dropping his tray on the table without a word, he sat down on the stool across from Kathy like it was something he did every day. The kids at the other end of the table stopped the conversation they were having to stare at him. He nodded at them and they just kept staring. He had no clue who half of them were – they were the brainy kids, kids who never crossed his path in the dumb classes. From what he'd seen these last couple of weeks, Kathy was a lot like them – nose always in a book, her brain working overtime.

Speaking of books … he glanced over at her. She was still gripping her book and reading it like there was no tomorrow and ignoring him. He looked closer and laughed outloud. That finally got her attention.

"What?" she asked and he reached out, grabbing her book and turning it around.

"I'm not the biggest reader in the world," he said with a grin as he handed it back to her, "but even I know it's easier to do when the book's right side up."

She blushed and dropped the book like it was on fire or something. "Oh, I … uh …"

"Relax. No big deal." Looking for something to talk about, he picked up the book and looked at the worn cover. "_Jane Eyre_," he mumbled, flipping through the battered pages. Most of his books looked brand new and his science book still made that creaking sound when he opened it.

"It's my favorite," she said quietly.

"Cool," he said, instantly feeling like a dork, but he'd pretty much exhausted his knowledge of books with that one word.

She smiled and picked up a carrot stick and took a bite. Her lunch was laid neatly out on the napkin in front of her – not a Ding Dong or Twinkie in sight.

"What's with the rabbit food?" he asked as he dredged his cheeseburger in the puddle of ketchup he had on his plate.

"My mom's on this diet kick. It sucks." Kathy grimaced as she took another bite. Jack didn't know how anyone could eat vegetables that weren't at least drenched in ranch dressing, or butter, or chocolate. Something. She looked miserable and he figured he wasn't through doing his good deeds for the day.

Sighing, he pushed his tray across the table. "We can share, I'm not really hungry," he lied.

Kathy's eyes grew wide behind her glasses. "I … I can't."

"She ain't gonna know. Be a rebel - have a tater tot."

XxXxXxXxXx

"Great job, Jack. Anytime you're in the city, man."

"Sure, yeah. That would be, uh, great," Jack said, only half-listening as he scanned the room. She was gone. Sometime between finishing the last song and getting cornered by the manager of the coffee house, Kathy Price had left. He wasn't sure why that bothered him so much.

"Merry Christmas." Jack looked down and realized the guy – Randy, according to his nametag – was still talking to him.

"Huh?" he said stupidly.

Randy shook his head as he held out an envelope. "Merry Christmas. Don't go spending that all in one place," the guy said with a lame chuckle and Jack nodded.

"Oh, right. Thanks," he said as he took the envelope without opening it to count it. It should be enough to get him through one more night in the city and on a train the next morning back to Detroit.

Picking up his guitar, he left the stage and headed toward the back of the place, where he'd left his guitar case and leather jacket. Not paying attention, he rounded a corner and ran right into someone, hard.

Before his brain had a chance to register what was happening, the front of his shirt was drenched in a warm liquid, probably coffee and whoever he ran into was muttering a string of the lamest curses he'd ever heard. He was pretty sure he'd never actually heard anyone say "fudge" out loud before, at least not anyone over the age of five.

"Sorry," he said, looking down at the person he'd collided with. It was a girl and she was standing in a puddle of coffee, looking down at her empty mug.

"I wasn't paying attention. Everyone says I don't pay attention, so don't feel sorry." She was rambling and he found himself grinning. "It was cold anyway, or else you would have been burned and then I would have felt really bad. Not to mention a bit stupid. If you want I can -"

"Hi, Kathy," he said, interrupting her epic apology.

Finally looking up, Kathy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled. "Hi, Jack."


	3. Chapter 3

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers _or _Angry Johnny and the Radio by_ The Gaslight Anthem

**Chapter 3**

_I always have remembered, in case you're wondering  
_

"I'll buy you another." His voice had deepened. That was the first thing Kathy's brain registered after slamming into him. Well, actually that was the second. The first was that he was tall. Really tall. She had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye. At least that's what she suspected she'd have to do if she pried her eyes off the floor and the puddle of tea they were both now standing in.

"Another?" she asked, forcing herself to look up as she tried to muddle through just what he was referring to. He grinned and her stomach did that flipping thing again and she tried not to grimace.

"Coffee," he said – the single word so deep and rough that she nearly sighed. As it was, she had to fight to keep her knees from going weak. This was ridiculous, she scolded herself. She was twenty-two, not thirteen. Grown women do not swoon – her life was not a Jane Austen novel. The best she could hope for was a Bridget Jones knock-off and even that was pushing it.

"Tea," she corrected him because that's what you do when you run into the love of your teenage life – you correct him when he's offering to buy you things and make him wish he'd run in the other direction the moment he'd set eyes on you.

"What?" Now it was his turn to look confused.

"It's tea. Well, chai, actually. A latte. They're really good. I mean, I'm sure you know that. Or maybe you don't like tea. I wouldn't know, you know. I guess. Um ..." Oh crap, the rambling was starting again. She bit her lip and crossed her arms, the empty mug dangling from her fingertips, dripping the last little bit of her drink down the side of her sweater. She was trying desperately to look casual and unaffected by the six foot-something rock god staring down at her, looking for all the world like he was going to burst out laughing or sweep her off her feet. Either option had become scarily possible in her addled brain.

He scratched his head, ruffling up his already messy hair and he flashed another lopsided grin. "Oh, okay. I'll buy you another chai, then. How's that sound?"

"Lovely." If she was at a desk, she would have slammed her head onto it. _Lovely?_

He laughed and she forced a smile, hoping she didn't look as embarrassed as she felt. "Awesome."

XxXxXxXxXx

_Shit, _Jack thought to himself, _did I really just say 'awesome'? _

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack nodded along, his hair falling in his eyes as he leaned back slightly, attacking the strings of his guitar, the rhythm coming fast and furious as he hit his groove. It was finally happening. The other guys followed along perfectly – well, Steve mumbled the lyrics and flubbed them a bit, but they could work on that. For once, the drums were holding steady with the beat and their newest addition, Trevor on keyboards, was living up to his reputation as being pretty hardcore on the Casio. Even the clarinet didn't sound like complete shit for a change.

He closed his eyes, letting the moment wash over him. He could see it all. A stage. Blinding lights streaming from behind and above. Screaming, crying, chanting, fans singing along, calling his name. And girls. Lots and lots of girls. Crying, reaching out, trying to grab him.

He grinned as the song entered the final chorus, but something happened, pulling him out of his reverie – just as one hot blonde managed to latch onto his t-shirt, seconds from tearing it off. Brad slammed his sticks on the high hat and groaned. Jack opened his eyes as the last few notes puttered out from his guitar and George squeaked out a dejected honk on his clarinet. Steve kept singing, but he was never the quickest guy in a room – Bobby liked to joke that he was a couple cans short of a six pack. Bobby could be an ass, but Jack had to agree with him on that one.

"What the hell, man?" Jack asked as he pulled the guitar strap over his head, carefully propping the instrument against the work bench that was behind them. They were in Steve's garage – one of the main reasons they let Steve be the lead singer. They needed a garage and Steve was the only one of them who had one, so by default, he became a founding member of the band. Steve played guitar, but he pretty much sucked at it, only really knowing how to play "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and there was only so much Nirvana a garage band could play before they had to move on. Luckily, his singing wasn't bad and Jack and Brad were happy to let him have the microphone.

A couple of weeks ago, Jack thought it would be cool to add a saxophonist to the band, but Steve insisted on letting his kid brother play clarinet. Suddenly, Jack knew what it meant to make a deal with the devil. Was the garage worth having a clarinet player in their rock band? Until they found an alternative or signed a record deal that gave them studio space, the answer was going to have to be yes. And that deal almost cost them their newest member.

Jack had heard about Trevor around school – he was good, really good. And he was looking to do more than take piano lessons and prepare for tests to get into pompous music schools. He wanted to break free from the classical crap everyone forced on him and Jack talked to him in the halls at school a couple of times, dropping hints here and there that they were short a keyboardist. It took a while, but it eventually worked and Trevor showed up one day after school to see if the band was what he was looking for.

Taking one look at their hodgepodge crew, Trevor had turned on his heel without even hearing them play, not about to play with a group that had band geek rejects sitting in with them. Jack had to think fast that day, cutting the guy off before he could reach the door. He swore on his stack of Pearl Jam bootlegs that it wasn't as bad as it looked and that they were serious about their music. It may have been bullshit, but it worked. Trevor stayed, and boy did they need him – at fifteen he had the experience and the knowledge they needed to be more than a bunch of goofballs playing dress-up.

Trevor banged out a couple of angry notes on his keyboard and looked back at Brad. "Yeah, what the hell, dude?"

Brad's answer was to tilt his head toward the open garage door and point with his drum sticks. "Don't tell me you guys didn't notice. Someone's been stalking us. Walked by three times already." Brad's eyes got wide and he hopped of his stool like he'd seen a ghost, tripping backwards over the leg that got caught on his foot. "Shit, there - she did it again. Don't tell me you didn't fuckin' see that."

Jack turned his attention from his spaz of a friend to the driveway and the empty sidewalk. All he saw was the minivan Steve's mom had pulled up in a little while ago and the empty trash cans Steve's dad always told him to bring inside, despite the fact that Steve always forgot. His dad would grumble under his breath, but he'd never yell and would eventually go get them himself. Jack always wondered at that – growing up in foster homes, you learned pretty quick that you had to jump and do what was asked of you or risk a beating. Steve had it lucky, but he doubted he realized that.

"You gotta chill, man. There's no one there," Jack said, shaking his head.

Steve was laughing, hanging onto the microphone stand like he'd fall down if he let go. "Real slick, Brad. You look like you're ready to piss your pants."

"Want me to grab one of Ethan's diapers?" George asked and everyone started to laugh. Ethan was George and Steve's baby brother who was three going on four but still not potty trained. Jack lived in silent fear that the kid would one day start playing the trombone or something equally ridiculous and they'd be forced to let him join.

Jack was laughing right along with everyone else when something caught his eye – a blur at the end of the sidewalk. A blur he recognized.

"Shit," he said, running his hands through his hair. "I'll be back, guys."

XxXxXxXxXx

She moved fast, he'd give her that much. She was already three houses down the block by the time he caught up with her. Of course, the giant white dog pulling her along might have had something to do with her speed. "Kathy," he called after her, a little out of breath. She stopped, not turning around to look at him, but her dog did, baring its teeth at him.

The dog growled at him as he got closer and Jack stopped in his tracks. It was a poodle, nearly as tall as Kathy and really pissed off looking. Jack always thought poodles were supposed to be snobby and prissy looking – this dog just looked mean. The giant pink bow in its hair wasn't helping much. Probably one of the reasons it was so mad.

"Chaucer, hush," Kathy said as she gave a little yank on the dog's leash and the growling got a little louder, the pouf ball on its head vibrating menacingly. Jack took an involuntary step back, not really wanting to get mauled by a dog wearing a bow and … he looked closer and frowned … pink polish on its nails.

"Hey, uh Kathy," he called out, trying to sound casual.

She finally turned around, her glasses crooked. She looked frazzled and he fought a smile. "Hi, Jack. Um …" She started gnawing on her lower lip and pushed her glasses up on her nose, still crooked but at least she could see now. "Um, what brings you here?"

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, motioning to the road behind him. "Band practice, back at Steve's."

"Oh. Nice." She managed, with much prodding, to get the dog to sit down. It was still staring at Jack like it wanted to rip his throat out, but the growling had stopped.

Jack cleared his throat and squinted at her, trying to think of what to say next. He had a sinking feeling she was following him, but he didn't want to come right out and say it. "Yeah. You, uh, walked by, like, four times."

"Oh, that was you guys?"

He coughed through a sudden laugh. "Yeah, that was us. Got a lot of bands practicing 'round here?"

She shrugged. "A few. Maybe. Um …" He could tell she was struggling to think of something to say, but fate stepped in and she didn't have to. A flash of something gray dashed by them, followed by some little girl yelling "Fluffy" as she ran after it. Chaucer was gone before Jack even had a moment to process what was happening. One second, the dog was eyeing Jack for lunch or a quick snack and then then next he was gone, in a balls-to-the-wall run after Fluffy.

"Oh no," Kathy said, her voice a strangled sob. "My mom's gonna kill me."

She looked at him with tears swimming in her eyes and he hesitated for a second, about to bolt in the opposite direction. Then he heard that kid calling for her cat, followed by Chaucer's determined bark. "Shit," he mumbled, sparing a glance to the heaven's and the dude up there with a really bad sense of humor. "Thank a lot, man," he said with a tired sigh.

XxXxXxXxXx

His chucks slapped against the concrete as he made his way down the sidewalk, glancing at each house he passed for any signs of Cujo and the kitty cat. A stitch was forming in his side and he was beginning to regret the cigarettes he'd been smoking every chance he got. He felt old, like Bobby-old, and that was embarrassing. But he couldn't stop. He had to get that dog and send Kathy on her way.

He found them on the next street over. Chaucer was standing guard at the bottom of a tree, barking up at something perched in the branches. Judging by the way the little girl was staring up at the tree, crying her eyes out, he figured it was Fluffy. Of course it was Fluffy.

Approaching as carefully as he could, he edged up to Chaucer and reached down, grabbing the leash. Chaucer was so focused on the cat, that he didn't even notice Jack. Kathy quickly appeared, out of breath and wheezing slightly. Jack gave her the leash and she hugged him.

He stood there, not sure what to do. He'd never been hugged by a girl before. Well, there was the blonde in his fantasy, but this was different. Kathy's frizzy hair was scratching his face and he gave her a half hearted pat on the back because he figured he shouldn't just stand there like a block of wood. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she kept saying over and over again.

"You're welcome," he mumbled and Jack could tell the instant Kathy realized what she was doing, that she'd jumped at him without thinking. She pulled back and cleared her throat, her face a bright shade of red. He'd never seen anyone look so embarrassed before.

"Thank you, Jack," she whispered.

"You're welcome," he repeated. Something tugged on his leg and he looked down. It was the little girl.

"What about Fluffy?" she asked, her bottom lip trembling. Kathy laughed and he groaned, glancing up at the tree and the ball of gray perched up in the middle of it.

"Shit."

XxXxXxXxXx

"That was very brave of you," Kathy said as she reached up and pulled a leaf from his hair.

They were walking back to Steve's – well, Jack was actually limping. He wasn't that hot at climbing trees to begin with, but he'd surprised himself when he got relatively high pretty fast. He was beginning to think that he wasn't going to make a complete fool of himself and actually rescue the stupid cat. Fluffy, however, had other plans. Every time he reached out to get the damn cat, it would climb a little higher, inches out of reach.

Just as he was about to give up, the tree gave up for him. The loud crack that sounded was certainly not a good thing and the branch he was braced on gave way and he was on the ground before he knew it, covered in scratches and leaves. He stayed on the ground for several minutes, waiting for the telltale signs of a broken bone or a concussion, but none came. He seemed to have gotten off relatively unscathed. He still didn't want to get up and was hoping the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

Kathy was fussing over him and the kid was still staring up the tree at her dumb cat. Jack was about to suggest that they set the tree on fire and see how Fluffy liked that, but then the cat chose that moment to climb down on her own. And as though is possessed one hell of a wicked sense of humor and knew that timing was key, the cat stepped right over Jack as he lay bruised and bleeding on the ground, flouncing her ass in his face. The way his luck was going, he wouldn't have been surprised if the dog decided to take a piss on his head.

Kathy had to help him get up; she winced every time he did and she'd gotten really good at apologizing. The dog even gave him a little sniff and a lick on his hand before yanking on the leash and causing Kathy to stumble. The walk back to Steve's was a long one.

Brad gave a low whistle as they walked into the garage. "What the hell happened to you?"

Jack grinned and motioned to his companions. "Guys, meet Kathy." The dog growled, glaring at the strangers. "And Chaucer," Jack added, rolling his eyes.

"Hi, guys," Kathy said with a little wave just as Chaucer yanked on his leash, pulling it from her grasp. He headed straight for George and the clarinet.

George let out a high pitched scream as the dog grabbed the clarinet from his hands and ran off with it, through the open garage door. "Mo ... o … o … om!"

The guys laughed and Kathy cried out, "Oh, no. Not again."

XxXxXxXxXx

"Would you like some coffee with your sugar?" Kathy asked as she watched Jack open half a dozen sugar packets at once and dump them into his drink.

"Oh, right." Jack shrugged. "I guess I like sugar," he offered lamely, reaching for the cream.

Kathy had her second chai of the night sitting in front of her, untouched. She'd been in a coffee shop for close to an hour now and had yet to have a sip of anything. She couldn't shake the premonition that if she reached for her mug, Jack would somehow wind up with it all down the front of him. She'd always been clumsy in his presence and tonight was proving that it was a trait she hadn't outgrown.

He was stirring his coffee and staring at her in that intense way he had, the one that made her feel like she was being studied. For all she knew, he was figuring out whether or not he had enough change for laundry or a cab home. But she couldn't help but hope he was really looking at her – her, the klutz from middle school who excelled at causing him headaches and getting him into trouble. The nobody who tried with all her might to be more than just a friendly nuisance to him when they were growing up.

She felt her cheeks betray her and redden under his scrutiny and she decided to tempt fate and take a sip of her drink, just so she'd have something to do, something to distract herself with.

"So," he said, breaking the silence. "Been a long time."

She nodded. "Yes, it has."

He stirred his coffee some more and she took another sip. She couldn't think of anything to say and she was beginning to wonder if she should have just let him escape when he had the chance. The whole "buy you a coffee" thing was just to be nice and she should have realized he didn't really mean it. Jack was always doing stuff like that when they were kids and she was always too bullheaded to realize it – too awestruck to get it through her thick skull that cute boys did not normally hang around with losers like her.

"What have you been up to?" he asked, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table.

She studied her mug for a moment, twisting it in the saucer. "Not much. Class. Work. Hanging out with my cat. You?"

"No pets – but I've got Bobby." He laughed and she smiled.

"I remember Bobby," she said, trying not to make a face. Jack's brother was always a bit of a jerk to her, brash and loud "Chaucer loved him," she said, remembering the day her mom's dog bounded after Jack's brother and she was sure he was going to have to pull out a gun and shoot the crazy poodle to stop the impending attack. Turns out Chaucer wanted to give Bobby the biggest, sloppiest kiss she had ever seen. Bobby didn't look particularly happy, but Chaucer was in seventh heaven.

"That dog hated me," Jack said, shaking his head as he tore open another sugar packet.

"Chaucer hated everyone. Bobby was the first person he didn't growl at and try to devour," she explained.

"Kindred spirits."

"Something like that."

It got quiet again, but not like before. This quiet wasn't awkward and she didn't feel the need to fill it with nonsense. It was nice, just sitting with Jack. He always made her feel more special than she really was.

"What brings you to New York?" she eventually asked.

He leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair, suddenly looking very tired. "It's a long story."

She looked at him and chewed on her bottom lip. Something told her it wasn't an easy story for him to tell. She thought back to her empty apartment, Horatio sitting next to the door, waiting for her to come home. She thought of the presents she had to wrap and mail if she had any hope of them reaching their destinations before New Years. She thought of the mountain of papers she told her professor she'd help him grade and the work that still had to be done on the article she was working on for her freelancing job with the Times. She thought of all of this and then she remembered Jack's songs and the pain and the sadness she'd heard in them.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said quietly. "I've got all night."

* * *

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_A/N - Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. _


	4. Chapter 4

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Wherefore Art Thou, Elvis? _by The Gaslight Anthem

**Chapter 4**

_Now I got scars like the number of the stars_

Behind the chunky black frames of her glasses, her eyes were just as open and trusting as he remembered them. He always envied her that – wondered what it was like to not immediately expect the worst of people.

She was staring at him, waiting for him to say something. To open up and spill his life all over the table over a lousy cup of coffee. He hadn't really meant to offer up any sort of an opening – he figured she'd let it drop. He should have known better – chicks love a sob story and his story was pretty fucked up and should come with a complimentary box of tissues.

He tapped a nervous beat on the table, trying to figure out what to say. He opted for stalling. "You've got all night, huh?"

"Yep." She propped her elbows on the table and leaned her chin against her clasped hands, waiting. He took a deep, steadying breath, looked down at the table, gathering his thoughts, and … picked up another sugar packet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her shoulders slump in defeat.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he stirred in the sugar the drink didn't need. "I just …"

"Don't like to talk?"

"Pretty much." He gave a tired grin, aimlessly running his index finger through some sugar that had spilled on the table. She took a sip of her tea and he swore he could hear her breathing. The place wasn't quiet. People were talking. Glasses were clanging as the waitress cleared the table next to them. Canned jazz played in the background through the sound system. But none of that seemed to matter – somehow, all of that faded into the background and the only things that existed at that moment were him, Kathy, and the silence that hung between them.

The room was growing warm as more people piled in and Jack started to roll up the sleeves of his jacket, trying to get comfortable. The next act was coming on in roughly ten minutes, a singer with a CD under her belt and a semi-successful single that was used on an episode of some sappy medical TV show. So she actually had people coming just to see her perform.

Kathy suddenly gasped as he started to fold up the cuff of the right sleeve and he froze, unsure of what to do or why she made the sound.

"Let me see," she said, making a beckoning motion.

"Huh?"

"Your arm. Let me see." She was reaching across the tiny table now and he had to fight the urge to back away from her. As it was, she came dangerously close to knocking over both their mugs. His shirt was still dripping from the first dousing and he really didn't want a round two.

She rolled her eyes when he still didn't respond. "Your tattoo, silly." He wrinkled his brow – _did she really just call him 'silly'?_ He was beginning to remember just how weird she could be.

Sighing, he pushed the sleeve up to his elbow and laid his arm across the table – figuring giving in was easier than being stubborn. She ran her fingers lightly over the word inked on the underside of his forearm.

"Spares," she said, "you guys really went through with it, then?"

He shrugged. "Sorta."

"Sorta?" she repeated, arching an eyebrow.

"There's a band called The Spares, but I'm not a member anymore," he admitted.

Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean? That band was you – you were that band." He had to bite back a grin at how furious she looked.

"Things change."

"How? That's a pretty big change."

"It's a -" he started and she groaned.

"Long story?" she finished for him, shaking her head.

"Yeah," he said.

He wondered if she realized she still had her hand on his arm. Her thumb moved slightly, brushing over his skin, and she suddenly stilled. _Shit_, he thought. He'd forgotten all about them. The scars. From the look on her face, he could tell she'd forgotten, too.

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack swung his legs back and forth as he sat on the stool in the art room. He was hunched over his battered sketchbook, pen in hand, an intense look on his face, not even realizing the cuff of his long sleeve t-shirt was now smudged with black ink. He was painstakingly drawing a logo for his band – it was one of at least a hundred that filled the pages, each one slightly different than the one that came before it. It was a bitch getting the 'S' just right. The last one looked too _Star Wars_ and the one before that was crooked as hell.

Steve took his usual seat next to him and Jack grunted a hello at him. Leaning over Jack's shoulder, Steve let out a low whistle. "Not bad, Mercer. We should get shirts made or something. That would be wicked."

Jack rolled his eyes. Steve started saying "Wicked" the other day for no apparent reason and it was getting on Jack's nerves. He thought it made him somehow sound cool and popular, but it really just made him sound like a giant dork. At least he finally stopped declaring everything "Saaaweeet". That was just fucking embarrassing.

The bell rang and a second or two later their teacher hustled in, slightly out of breath, late as usual. Truth be told, Mrs. Sapphire was Jack's favorite teacher. He loved how she was kind of flaky sometimes but really with-it other times. She always wore long, flowy dresses that made him think of the music Evelyn liked, the stuff from the Sixties. And she kind of reminded him of Evelyn because she talked to her students like they were equals – like she was one of them. He appreciated that. It bugged him when adults assumed being thirteen meant you were stupid and naïve. He had a feeling he knew more about the real world than most of the morons running the school.

"Today we're going to start working in pairs," Mrs. Sapphire announced from the front of the class. Steve nudged Jack's arm and Jack nodded. Partners. Done. Simple.

"Boy-girl pairs," she added and the class groaned. "Oh, it'll be fun," she chided, motioning for everyone to get up and move around, changing tables.

Standing up, Jack scanned the room, trying to figure out who he should try to team up with. He really hated working with other people, especially if it was something like art. Art was like music, it just sort of … well, appeared. Formed out of nothing. It wasn't like that was something to collaborate on. But it might not be completely pointless. His gaze landed on Ashley Parker and he figured it couldn't hurt to give it a shot.

Lately, he'd been noticing Ashley more and more often. There was just something about her. She smiled all the time. And tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder when she talked. And she was always talking. He had no idea about what, but other girls were always surrounding her, hanging on every word. And guys, too. Guys like … _crap_, he thought to himself as someone got to Ashley before he got the nerve to walk over to her. Chase Roberts. She looked up at the guy and smiled, her perfect teeth flashing white against her pink lip gloss. Of course she was smiling – Chase was the quarterback of the football team – sure it was middle school, but football was football – and he got straight A's and probably cured cancer in his free time. The dude was perfect and there was no way Jack "First-Class Fuck-Up" Mercer could compete with that.

He dropped back down into his seat, rejected. He barely noticed when someone sat on the stool next to him until they tapped him on his arm. Glancing over, he was met with the partner he should have automatically assumed he'd wind up with in the first place.

"Hey, Kath," he said halfheartedly. She gave a goofy little wave and smiled her metal smile at him.

"Partners?" she asked and he shrugged.

"Sure." He forced a grin. It wasn't her fault she wasn't Ashley.

Everyone settled into their new seats and Mrs. Sapphire went behind her desk and grabbed a large canvas she had propped against the wall. She held it up for everyone to see. At first glance, it looked like the worlds ugliest flower – like someone flung garbage at the canvas, trying to see what would stick. But Jack looked closer and realized it was actually layer upon layer of things – not just paint, but paper, beads, wires, all kinds of stuff – all stuck together to form the flower. It was pretty damn cool.

"We're going work in mixed media. You can use whatever you want to create your painting." She pointed to the tables lining the wall under the window. Beyond the usual painting supplies, she had boxes laid out that were overflowing with junk. "The catch is that you guys need to work together to make it a painting that is meaningful to both of you."

Jack looked over at Steve. He looked miserable. He was stuck with Stephanie who talked a hundred miles an hour and drew unicorns and rainbows on everything. He could already see it – unicorns and rainbows meet Magic the Gathering and Pokemon. Yeah, that was going to be one wicked painting.

"Paint," Kathy said, poking him in the arm with her pencil.

"Huh?"

She had her blank, pristine sketch book page out in front of her, probably ready to jot down notes and graph out the whole project. She tapped her chin with her pencil. "We should probably pick out paint first then go from there. Like, you get your favorite colors and I'll get mine."

"Sure, whatever."

XxXxXxXxXx

"No," Jack said, staring at the cup full of paint in her hand.

"But …" she started to protest and he shook his head.

"No way." He took the paint and sat it carefully on the table, like it was a bomb ready to go off.

She put her hands on her hips and blew a puff of air through her pursed lips. He'd never seen her get angry before. "Collaboration means --"

Putting his hands up, he cut her off. "Don't quote the dictionary at me. I know what friggin' collaboration means. I'm not stupid."

She paled a little at his comment. "I – I didn't say you were stupid, Jack."

"I know you didn't say I was stupid."

"No, you're just stubborn," she finished with a triumphant smile.

Sighing, he picked up the paint and glared at it. "Pink?"

"I didn't complain that you chose black."

"Black is awesome. Pink is …"

"What?"

"Pink."

She had a couple of other things on the table and he made a move to grab them and see what else she'd gathered. Riffling through the boxes, he'd found sheet music, old magazines, copper wire, and broken glass. He'd already started to imagine the really cool guitar he could make out of the stuff. A really cool _black_ guitar. His plan didn't include anything pink or … "Is that glitter?" he asked, his mouth hanging open.

"Maybe," she said as she took a step back.

"No fuckin' way."

"Jack," Kathy whispered harshly. Mrs. Sapphire cleared her throat and Jack mumbled an apology.

"Fine, I'll put the paint back." She reached out to take the cup, only he wouldn't let go.

"We'll use the pink."

"No, Jack, I'll put it back." She tugged on the cup, her pull surprisingly strong, only he was holding fast, too.

"Let go," he said under his breath, not really wanting to cause a scene. Steve was looking at them, cracking up. Jack spared him a glance. Like, the guy had room to talk. His canvas already consisted of a bright yellow sun with a happy face and Stephanie was gluing purple feathers to something that could either be a pony or a really ugly dog.

Kathy narrowed her eyes at him, the light from the windows glinting off her glasses and he gave a final tug on the cup. Only problem was, she chose that exact moment to let go.

It wasn't like his life passed before his eyes or anything dramatic like that. It wasn't the most catastrophic thing that had ever happened to him. Well, at least it wasn't until he slipped in the paint and fell on his ass in the little bit that hadn't managed to find it's way down the front of his shirt and all over his jeans. And when Kathy accidentally knocked over the jar of glitter onto him, at that point, it didn't even matter. The fact that she somehow managed to get doused in the paint as well didn't even provide a small measure of comfort. Nope, it was just the way his life worked.

Cup full of paint filled to the brim? Check. Brightest shade of pink you could possibly imagine? Check. Dumped down the front of him, ruining a favorite t-shirt and his best pair of sneakers? Check. Every eye in the class on him, including Ashley Parker's? Check and double check.

Mrs. Sapphire walked over to them. Jack was still on the floor. He figured it was just safer to stay there. "Jack," his teacher said steadily, though he could tell she was trying not to laugh. "Perhaps you and Kathy should go clean up at the sinks." She nodded toward the back of the room where there were a couple of large sinks that they used to clean up their brushes and things at the end of class.

Skeptically, he glanced down at his once-white t-shirt. If you squinted, you could still make out Kurt Cobain, but just barely. Yeah, the sinks would help a whole hell of a lot.

"Sure. Whatever." He hoisted himself up off the floor, waving off Kathy's offer of help. God only knows what else she'd dump on him if she came closer.

XxXxXxXxXx

He left pink sneaker prints across the floor as he made his way to the back of the classroom. Kathy followed close behind, apologizing every two or three steps. He'd stopped telling her it was okay after the fifth "I'm sorry".

The water was cold and came out of the faucet much faster than he expected it to. He jumped back a little, stepping on Kathy's foot in the process. "Ow," she said, hopping a little on one foot.

"Sorry," he said halfheartedly, taking the bar of industrial strength soap and trying in vain to get the paint of his hands. It was everywhere.

Kathy reached over grabbed his arm, pushing his sleeve up. "Here, let me help," she said, pulling his arm under the water, running the soap over it. He was so stunned for a moment that he totally forgot that he didn't like people to touch him, especially not his arms. He always wore long sleeves – always. No one seemed to notice. Well, Evelyn noticed, but she knew the reason why.

Kathy's hand stilled under the water and she was looking down, her eyes growing large behind her glasses. "Jack," she whispered and he yanked his arm out of her grasp, pushing his sleeve back down, not even caring that he got it dripping wet. "Jack," she repeated and he could see that look in her eyes that he hated – pity.

"Just leave it alone." It came out more harshly than he intended and he heard her breath hitch in surprise. "Kathy, what I meant was …" he hesitated, not sure what to say. "Look, it's nothing."

She nodded mutely and he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. She looked like she was going to cry – over him and his stupid scars. It made him damn uncomfortable, more than any amount of glitter and paint ever could.

Growing tired of standing there in awkward silence and becoming acutely aware of just how much of a mess the two of them managed to make, Jack uttered a phrase that he never in a million years imagined himself saying. "Uh, Mrs. Sapphire, can me and Kathy go to the principal's office?"

XxXxXxXxXx

The paper towels crinkled as he shifted in his seat. The secretary looked over at him, like she was ready to pounce if he leaned back and got paint on her precious chair. He'd laughed when she suggested to Principal Clark that they make him and Kathy sit on paper towels while they waited for someone to bring them a change of clothes. He should have realized she wasn't joking.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Kathy looked equally as uncomfortable. She laced her fingers in her lap and gave a weary sigh. Every time Principal Clark came into the waiting room, he gave a little chuckle. Jack rolled his eyes at him and fought the urge to flip the guy the bird. They didn't exactly have a warm relationship.

The intercom on the secretary's desk chirped and she answered it, talking in hushed tones like she was protecting government secrets or something. She got up from her desk and headed for the closed door behind her, but not before shooting a warning glance at the two of them.

The door close behind her and Jack leaned forward, bracing his hands on the edge of the chair. "Man, I'm tempted to go sit in her chair and leave a big pink butt print on her seat."

Kathy let out a startled yelp, and covered her mouth to hide her giggles. "Jack, you can't do that."

He shrugged.

She stopped laughing and the room got quiet again. "How did it happen, Jack?" she asked so softly that he thought he'd imagined it.

"What?"

She tilted her head and gave a small smile that looked a little sad. "You know."

Hanging his head, he stared at the floor, his fingers digging into the seat cushion as the memories played out before him. Memories he dealt with every night. Memories with pain and blood and broken glass. Memories that eventually led him to Evelyn but made him walk through fire and hell first.

And then he thought of Kathy and her crooked glasses, her ridiculous dog and all the little things about her – her schedule that she had laminated, the books she always had with her at lunch, the fact that he knew she wrote poetry and kept it hidden in her notebook so that no one would see it and make fun of her. She didn't want to hear about his life, what he went through. Stuff like that didn't happen in worlds with white picket fences and perfect grades and braces and dogs with bows in their hair.

She was still looking at him – he could tell even though his gaze was still glued to the floor. Maybe he could admit it. No one at school knew, not even Steve. He liked that idea – clean slate. But sometimes he ached to talk about it, needed someone to know why he sometimes fell asleep in math class, and why he felt weird in the gym locker room, and why he sometimes spent more time in detention than he spent out of it. Sometimes he thought it would be good for someone besides Evelyn to know why he was such a screw-up.

"My foster father," he said quietly, looking up and meeting her gaze. She didn't say anything, simply reached over, placed her hand over his and gave it a gentle squeeze.

XxXxXxXxXx

Kathy's mom was the first to arrive and she was nothing like Jack imagined her. Where her daughter was frizzy and frazzled and awkward, Mrs. Price was polished and put together. She scowled at Kathy as she walked through the door. She had a bag in her hand that she impatiently thrust at her daughter. Kathy took it and thanked her.

"We're going to discuss this when you get home," Mrs. Price assured her in a clipped tone. She gave him a dirty look and then was out the door so fast Jack was certain he'd imagined her.

"Um…" he started, but before he could finish, his worst nightmare stepped through the door.

"Ma called me," Bobby said with a smirk as the door swung shut behind him. Jack sighed and slouched in his chair, hoping he could disappear.

"Man." Bobby looked him up and down and Jack swore he could hear the wheels turning. "'Jackie needs a change of clothes' doesn't even begin to cover it. Did a fucking fairy princess explode all over you?"

Glaring at his older brother, Jack held out his hand for the bag of clothes Bobby brought with him. "Here ya go, Jackiepoo. I tried to find the most embarrassing outfit you had, but it all looks like gay shit to me, so I gave up."

Opening the bag, Jack pulled out jeans, old sneakers and … "Your hockey jersey?"

"Figured no one would give you shit for the rest of the day if you had that on." _No_, Jack thought to himself, _they'd give him shit for the rest of his _life_ if he wore it._

"No way, man."

"Fine. Have it your way. Splattered in paint. I don't give a fuck either way."

"Bobby Mercer," Principal Clark called out from the doorway of his office. "I thought I heard your cheerful voice out here."

"Principal Clark, long time no tire-slash. Did ya miss me?" Bobby grinned as he walked over and shook the man's hand.

"Like the plague, Bobby, like the plague."

Jack slouched down further in his chair. Great, just fucking great. It was going to be a long day.

XxXxXxXxXx

"We should have skipped that day," Kathy said with a laugh, picking up her chai and blowing on it even though it had to have cooled off ages ago.

"Yeah," Jack said, nodding his head. "We should've. Of course, I had that feeling every day at school. 'Man, shoulda skipped today.' You'd be surprised how often that thought won out."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Somehow I doubt I'd be that surprised."

A couple of minutes passed and she tilted her head at him, an inquisitive look on her face. "Did it work?"

"Did what work?"

"Did the tattoo erase what happened?"

He swallowed heavily, a little taken aback by her bluntness. Most girls wouldn't be so direct; but then again, it wasn't like Kathy was ever like most girls. He thought about it for a moment – really thought about it. "Maybe," he said. "I guess."

"Scars fade?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, leaning forward in his seat, his gaze meeting hers. "Bitch of it is, there are always news ones to replace them."


	5. Chapter 5

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _The Pieces Don't Fit Anymore _by James Morrison

**Chapter 5**

_I've been twisting and turning in a space that's too small  
I've been drawing the line and watching it fall_

Jack never wanted a cigarette more in his life than he did at that moment. Scars and death and fucked-up childhoods shouldn't be resurrected over cups of coffee with quasi-intellectual indie rock playing in the background as a soundtrack.

Kathy was looking toward the stage, her head nodding along with the song that seemed to be never ending. Jack caught her taking sidelong glances at him, though; he wasn't fooled. She wanted to keep talking about feelings and the past and shit like that. If there was one thing he remembered about her, it was that she was one of the most persistent people he ever met. She could give Bobby a run for his money in the stubborn department.

Claustrophobia started to creep up on him, closing in around his shoulders, pressing down on him. Ever since he was kid, it had a way of catching him off guard, reminding him what it felt like to be trapped, to be caught with no way out. All of it – the people, the soft lighting, the laughter, the mellow singing of the girl on stage, the gentle strumming she was doing on the guitar, one note over and over again – all of it was cutting off his air, like a closet door slowly being shut on him, blocking the light and muffling all sound until all he could hear was his own breathing.

Standing up suddenly, he hastily told Kathy he'd be right back and he headed for the back of the place. He moved a little too quickly, putting too much weight on his leg and his bum knee. Pain lanced up his leg, nearly causing him to stumble, but he didn't and managed to make it to the back office without making a fool out of himself.

His leather jacket was draped over a chair and his guitar case was propped up against the wall. He grabbed his jacket, fishing his pack of Marlboro's and his silver lighter out of the pocket. He wished like hell New York hadn't passed that stupid smoking ban, but the truth was he could use the fresh air almost as much as he could use a smoke. Ironic as hell, but the truth.

The waitress was next to their table when he made his way back; she had her order book in her hand, tapping on it with a chewed up pencil. Kathy was talking to her, smiling. For some strange reason he found himself noticing how straight her teeth were, how big her smile was, the way her eyes crinkled behind her glasses. He shook his head to clear it – forget the cigarette, he was beginning to think he needed a drink.

"Jack," Kathy said, looking up at him, still smiling. "Want another coffee?" The waitress was looking at him too, waiting on an answer. He tucked the cigarette into the corner of his mouth and grabbed his guitar from the empty chair he'd placed it in earlier. He noticed the waitress frown at the cigarette and he grinned – he should light it up just to see what she'd do.

"Actually, I was thinking about getting some air," he said as he unlatched the buckles on the case, gingerly placed his guitar inside and then refastened them.

Kathy's response was a soft "oh" and nothing else. She looked down at her empty cup and sighed, not making a move to grab her coat or giving any indication that she would be joining him.

The waitress rocked back on her heels, looked between the two of them, muttered "nevermind" under her breath and walked away to another table.

"You comin' or what?" Jack asked as he pulled on his leather jacket.

She looked up at him, blinking slowly. "What?"

"Come on – it's gonna take you an hour just to get all that shit back on." He gestured toward the multicolored pile of knitwear she had sitting on the table. Like in a trance, she grabbed the scarf and wound it slowly around her neck. He could tell her mind was working; he had a feeling her mind was always working.

"What are we going to do?" she asked, as she pulled her ridiculous looking hat down over her hair. The thick, rainbow colored gloves came next and he bit back a smile. She was bundled up like one of his nieces, ready to make snow angels and build snowmen. He was fine with just his jacket and gloves. The cold got to him, but he welcomed the bite. Proved he was alive or something.

"Well, I'm gonna have a cigarette and you're going to keep me company. How's that sound?"

"Good," she said matter-of-factly.

"Good?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Nice."

He laughed. "Nice?"

She wrinkled her nose at him as she picked up her messenger bag full of books and slung it over her shoulder. "Shut up," she said, shaking her head.

That just made him laugh harder and she blew out a sigh, rustling her bangs that managed to escape being trapped under the bright orange knit hat. He grabbed his guitar and headed toward the door, Kathy following behind him.

XxXxXxXxXx

He could hear Bobby bitching at him all the way back in Detroit as he flicked open his lighter, holding the flame to the end of his cigarette, but he didn't care. Not even months spent in the hospital and then recuperating at home could shake his nicotine habit, and one loud-mouth brother wasn't going to change that.

He was standing outside the coffee shop, the brick wall cool against his back as he leaned against it, sighing as the smoke filled his lungs and he felt his mind clear a little. Kathy was right next to him, trying to stay out of the way of the people rushing by. She had the ends of her scarf in her hands and she was twirling them around and around, every once in a while catching some passerby in the face. She'd call out an apology, then do it again to another unsuspecting victim. She was like a walking booby trap.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and glanced at the time. It was getting late and he had a long day ahead of him – catching a train at the crack of fucking dawn to make it home in time for Daniela's holiday play at school. She was playing a reindeer and he wouldn't miss it for the world, despite Jerry swearing she was only in the background and didn't have any lines. She could be on the stage crew for all he cared; he'd already missed three years worth of school plays and family dinners and birthdays and shit like that. He may have chickened out with Thanksgiving, but he knew he'd be the biggest asshole in the world if he missed Christmas.

Kathy was now humming softly and kicking apart a pile of slush that was on the sidewalk. She looked bored out of her mind. "Live around here?" he asked as she jumped out of the way of a group of tacky tourists who were looking up at the buildings instead paying attention to where they were going.

"Not far," she said as she took up residence against the wall next to him, bending her leg and bracing her foot against the bricks. He looked down, staring at the top of her silly hat. He still couldn't believe that after all these years he was standing outside a coffee shop in New York City with Kathy Price of all people. He always imagined her holed up in some library in middle America, her nose buried in a book, not in one of the craziest cities on earth – wearing orange yarn on her head and listening to bad poetry and drinking designer tea.

He pushed away from the wall, dropping the cigarette butt on the ground, grinding it out beneath the toe of his boot. "I'll walk you home," he said as he picked up his guitar case, shifting it slightly to keep it balanced in his grasp.

"Oh, I'm fine. I mean, it's not far and I'm sure you have better things to do. And …" she trailed off and he fought a grin. He was starting to really dig her rambling.

"Which way?" he said.

She looked both ways, like she was trying to remember the way to her place. "Right."

He held out his hand. "Lead the way."

They'd walked roughly one block when she stopped dead in her tracks, catching both him and the people behind them off guard.

"We can take a cab," she said out of nowhere.

"Huh?" he asked, wondering how "not far" turned into a cab ride.

She looked up at him, her hands twisting her scarf. "We can take a cab. I didn't realize you were hurt."

"I'm hurt?" That was news to him.

Her eyes got that misty, worried look in them. "You're limping."

He let out a sigh and shrugged. "I'm always limping," he reassured her, only it must not have been reassuring because her eyes grew wide and her face paled a bit.

"What do you mean?"

He swallowed heavily, suddenly needing another cigarette. "I, uh …" he hesitated. He hated saying it. It always sounded so dumb, so strange to actually come out and say it. "I got, um, hurt last year."

She looked him over, like she could see the evidence and fill in the blanks. There was no way she would – he had trouble believing it himself; no way in hell her mind would jump to that conclusion.

"I got shot," he said, answering the question before she had a chance to ask it. Someone pushed into him and he realized they were in the middle of the sidewalk and committing one of the worst sins someone in New York could commit – standing still.

He started walking again, slowing down for Kathy to catch up to him. He cut across the mass of pedestrians, reaching a set of stairs that led up to a brownstone. The lights were all off, so hopefully no one was home to bitch at them for using their steps as a place to sit for a couple of minutes. He knew Kathy wouldn't let him leave it at "I got shot" and he didn't want to shout his tale of woe over the heads of strangers as they dodged cabs and tried not to trip over cracks in the sidewalk.

They sat down, not saying anything at first, just people-watching for a couple of minutes in silence. Jack wasn't really seeing them, though; it was just a blur as his mind tumbled through the events of a year ago. He could still taste the blood if he concentrated hard enough. Feel the cold seeping into his bones.

"What happened?" she eventually asked as he pulled another cigarette from the battered pack. He lit it and exhaled, watching as the smoke drifted up into the glow cast by the streetlights. Some snowflakes drifted down through the smoke; he hadn't realized it was going to snow and he hunched his shoulders deeper into his jacket, suddenly feeling very cold.

He took a deep breath, figuring he should start at the beginning. "My mom died."

XxXxXxXxXx

Her mom pulled away as soon as she'd dropped her off so she only had two choices – ring the doorbell or sit on the step until her mom came back for her in three hours. She was about to sit down when the door opened.

She recognized the man at the door - his scowl wasn't one that was easy to forget. She tightened her grip on her books, wondering how long the walk home would be. "We don't need any Girl Scout cookies," he practically barked at her.

She gulped and took a step back. "Is Jack here?" she asked, her voice unsteady and small.

This was not how she imagined today was going to. Jack was going to open the door before she even had a chance to knock, his smile perfect as he took her hand and led her inside his house. He'd take her on a tour, showing off all the things he loved, like his guitar and the record collection she'd heard him talking about. He'd introduce her to his mom and they'd get along famously, Kathy already feeling like a part of the family. And she couldn't forget the end she'd devised for them – the part where he professed his love for her and asked her to be his girlfriend. That last part may have been a stretch, but never at any point did her fantasy include the mean older brother.

The scowling man scowled deeper and looked her up and down, a smirk forming on his pursed lips. He laughed suddenly. "Jackiepoo! Get your ass to the door, your girlfriend is here."

Someone stepped up behind Jack's brother and swatted him across the back of the head. "Where are your manners, Bobby Mercer?"

He moved out of the way of the door, rubbing his head. "Ma, I'm just jokin' around. Jackie loves it when I give his scrawny ass a hard time."

Bobby retreated into the house and was replaced a woman Kathy assumed was Jack's mom. She was a lot older than Kathy would have thought – her hair gray and her smile kind. She looked more like a grandmother than a mom, but Kathy remembered that Jack was adopted, so that might explain it.

"You must be Kathy," she said simply, stepping aside so Kathy could enter the house.

"Yes, ma'am," she answered and the woman laughed.

"Please, call me Miss Evelyn. Ma'am is for old ladies who knit and drink tea."

Kathy smiled, instantly feeling welcome despite the scary guy who answered the door. "Miss Evelyn," she said, testing it out. She never had an adult tell her to use their first name, it was a little weird.

She led her through the house to the dining room, past Bobby who was ignoring them, his eyes glued to the TV. Evelyn pulled out a chair for her and she sat her books on the table and sat down, folding her hands on top of her Algebra book.

"Jack should be down in a minute. He has trouble waking up early, especially on Saturdays," Evelyn explained as she disappeared into the kitchen.

_Early?_ Kathy thought to herself, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was almost noon and she'd been awake since eight. Her mom's rules. All homework had to be finished before she could do anything else on the weekend. Of course, it wasn't like she was clamoring to go outside and play with her friends. No, she spent her free time in her room, writing in her journal, jotting down poems and the failed beginnings of the great novel she planned on writing. Her mom hated it – calling it a waste of time, but it was one of the only times Kathy ignored her and did it anyway. Writing was hers and something her mom couldn't have control over.

Bobby was shouting curse words at the TV when Jack finally made an appearance. He was half asleep and he walked through the dining room without even saying hi. It looked like he'd gotten dressed in the dark – his t-shirt was on inside out and his jeans were dragging on the floor, his bare feet shuffling across the carpet. He went into the kitchen and she heard him rustling around a bit; he reappeared holding an orange juice carton up to his mouth as he chugged its contents. His eyes locked with hers and he slowly lowered the carton.

"Um, hey," he said gruffly.

"Hey," she replied.

He ran his hand through his hair, making it stick up even more than it already was. She could tell he was confused and it was adorable. Squinting, he looked down at the carton in his hands and shrugged, holding it out to her. "Want some?"

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack was practically laying across the table, half listening to her as she tried to explain the equations he was having trouble with. Being in the National Honor Society meant she had to sign up to tutor and she checked off the math box without a second thought. It was a foregone conclusion that she was a math whiz and her future was with numbers. Numbers bored her so much, but they somehow arranged themselves in her brain in a way that made her understand them. Understanding did not equal love, and her passion for math was lukewarm at best.

She looked at her student and chewed on the end of her pencil. Jack's passion for math was decidedly less than lukewarm and she still couldn't understand how he wound up in her class in the first place. It was probably the placement tests, but he was in the easier classes for everything else.

She was about to turn the page and move onto the next set of problems when Evelyn came in, a plate of cookies in her hand. "Thought you guys could use a break," she said, placing the cookies on the table. Jack reached out and grabbed one and started eating it, not even bothering to lift his head up.

Kathy stared at the cookies but didn't take one.

"Everything okay, sweetie?" Evelyn asked and Kathy nodded.

"Kathy doesn't do cookies," Jack explained, finally pulling himself up off the table so that he was sitting upright. "She also doesn't do tater tots or Twinkies." He grinned at her and she blushed, looking down at her notebook and the numbers she had carefully and neatly written across the page the night before to prepare for their tutoring session.

"Got any carrots, Ma?" Jack continued and Kathy kicked out without thinking, connecting with his knee. He let out a startled yelp and leaned down, rubbing the spot she'd connected with.

"Is that what you want? I think I have some in the crisper. They were still orange the last time I checked," Evelyn said with a laugh. She was waiting for an answer and Kathy felt so embarrassed. Her mom and her stupid rules. No junk food or she was going to get fat. No candy or she was going to get fat. No nothing or she was going to get fat. She didn't know why her mom was so worried about her being perfect.

"She wants a cookie. She just won't admit it," Jack said, grabbing two more cookies. "She thinks her mom will know somehow. Like she's the cookie police."

Evelyn sat down with them with a sigh. "Jack, sometimes kids listen to what their parents tell them to do."

Jack sat up straighter. "I listen."

Evelyn raised an eyebrow and Kathy laughed. Boy was he a bad liar. Evelyn kept staring at him and it was amazing – like a silent lie detector. He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "Usually," he mumbled. Evelyn laughed and Kathy found herself joining her.

Without saying anything, Evelyn pulled the plate closer and took one of the cookies off the top, placing it on top of Kathy's notebook. Kathy looked over at her and Evelyn winked.

Leaning over, the older woman whispered to her. "There's nothing wrong with rebelling every once in a while. The trick is to know which battles are worth fighting."

Tentatively, Kathy took a bite, the chocolate melting in her mouth and making her smile. "Thank you, Miss Evelyn," she said through a mouthful of cookie.

XxXxXxXxXx

_My mom died._ The words hung in the air and Kathy didn't know what to say.

_My mom died._ What do you say to that? "Sorry" didn't seem like enough, felt hollow and useless.

Instead she opted for silence. Leaning into him slightly, letting him know she was there as he let that horrible sentence turn the key in the lock that was keeping all of it bottled up inside. It was so hard to listen to; she couldn't fathom what it would have been like to live through it. That Jack was there with her, on the steps of some random brownstone, able to tell it was a testament to his strength.

His hands were braced on the steps and he was looking forward at the sidewalk and the street in front of them, but Kathy knew it wasn't New York he was seeing, it was Detroit and it was terrible. She placed her hand on the step next to his, not quite touching him, wanting for all the world to hold onto him, but knowing it was too much. Her breath caught when, instead of pulling away from her, he reached out and took her hand, his fingers lacing with hers.

He finished the story, his shoulders slumping as though the burden had been lifted. He was still looking blindly ahead, still not looking at her, but he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Thanks, Kathy," he said quietly.

She ran her thumb over his knuckles. "You're welcome, Jack."


	6. Chapter 6

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_, _Sometime Around Midnight _by The Airborne Toxic Event, or _Homeward Bound _by Simon and Garfunkel

**Chapter 6**

_The band plays some song about forgetting yourself for a while.__**  
**And the piano's this melancholy soundtrack to her smile_

It was strange – the silence. Kathy didn't understand how New York could feel so still and silent with all the people filling the sidewalks and all the cars cramming the streets. But it was. Not a sound. Just her and Jack and the snow falling lightly, the kind that melted as soon as it touched the skin of your cheek or the heat of your breath.

Jack had his crumbled Marlboro pack in his hand and she watched absentmindedly as he pulled yet another cigarette out of it. Watching him light it was oddly fascinating, the way the cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth like he was James Dean reincarnated, his shoulders hunched and his mood cool and gloomy. Watching him made her want to smoke, which was utterly ridiculous because she hated it, despised it really. Her one experience smoking resulted in a coughing fit that left her close to puking – not one of her finer moments. But Jack made it look sexy as hell and she imagined herself reaching out, taking the cigarette from between his lips and placing it between her own, sharing it like it was the prelude to a kiss, the promise of something more.

She must have been staring – who was she kidding? Of course she was staring. And of course he noticed, she could tell by the way he was grinning without looking directly at her, but the grin didn't reach his eyes. They were still sad and haunted, still trapped in that hell he went through a year ago, was probably still going through today. At a loss for what to do next, how to fill the silence, she nudged the guitar case that was propped up on the step below them with the toe of her sneaker, a crooked smile on her face that she hoped didn't look as forced as it felt. "Mind if I play?"

He raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. "You play?"

"Well, _Chopsticks_." She wrinkled her nose, trying not to laugh as his brow furrowed and he got a confused look on his face. "On piano." She grabbed the guitar case and sat it across her lap. "How hard could it be on guitar?" she asked, taunting him.

His mouth was hanging open and she could practically hear the gears in his brain working to figure out what to say next. While she waited for his comeback, she ran her glove-covered fingers over the beat-up case, tracing the various stickers that were placed all over it haphazardly, a mosaic of bands, bars, and Jack's dreams. She couldn't help wondering what each sticker represented, what the story was behind each one. Given time, she could easily make up her own, probably giving him a much more tame and sedate life than he truly led.

"You ain't playing _Chopsticks_ on my guitar," he said, his voice whiskey-deep and rough.

He flicked his cigarette butt onto the sidewalk, barely missing a group of giggling women who were clutching bulging bags from some high-end stores, stores Kathy loved to window shop at but never had the nerve to go inside. They were obviously out Christmas shopping and Kathy felt a twinge of loneliness. All her gift giving was through the mail this year – some random toys she'd bought for her stepsister and brother, a polo shirt for her dad, a vase for her step mom, and a card for her mother. The card had even been a stretch, something she'd mulled over at the Hallmark store for far longer than she should have. All the sentiments in those cards seemed so false, like she'd be lying if she tried to pretend she meant any of the flowery, sentimental words in them, but she couldn't just send a generic _Happy Holidays_ card – well, she could, but then she'd have to live with the knowledge that she'd disappointed her mother yet again.

Popping the latches on the case, she pulled out the guitar and sat the case on the ground in front of them. She brushed a stray flurry off her cheek as she winked at Jack, who was eyeing her and his guitar warily. "Perfect night to play a song or two," she said, strumming her fingers over the strings. The thick yarn of her gloves got caught and she saw him wince as he reached out and carefully pried the instrument from her grasp.

"Perfect night, huh?" he asked and she nodded. "Got any requests?" He laughed, shaking his head, a sly grin forming on his lips. "Wait, let me guess, Celine Dion?"

She made a face. "No."

"Britney Spears?"

"Ew. Give me a little credit here, Jack."

She chewed on her bottom lip, fidgeting with the ends of her scarf again. "How about one you wrote?"

His grin faded as he pulled the strap of the guitar over his shoulders. His eyes were shuttered and distant again and she wondered what she'd said, how she'd screwed things up. "Um," he took a deep breath, "I think things are still a bit raw right now for one of those."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said softly and he shrugged.

"It's not your fault I've been wallowing in angst for a year and all my songs are about crying and pain and shit like that. Not exactly _Jingle Bells_, ya know?"

"I like angst," she said cheerfully.

"Yeah, you're very convincing." He leaned back against the wrought iron railing that led up to the brownstone's doorway. Squinting up at the streetlight, he looked deep in thought. "Hmm …" he said, running his hand through his hair. "Okay, I got it. Not one I wrote, but it's a classic."

He plucked at the strings, fiddling with the tuning pegs like he had to test them even though he'd just finished a set less than an hour ago. Eventually, the first notes started, the tune drifting out over the crowded city block. A young couple who was walking by looked over and the guy snickered and the girl smacked him on the arm, looking back over her shoulder as they continued on their way. The girl had a wistful look on her pretty face and Kathy realized just how it must look – her on the stoop with the cute guitarist who was preparing to serenade the city that never sleeps as she looked on longingly. It felt like something she'd written in her notebooks as a kid – his name scribbled in the margins, decorating the fantasies she jotted down on the lined pages.

She could see the change sweep over him, even just with those few opening chords, how the music settled him and centered him, made him whole. Sighing softly, she leaned forward, not caring how silly and dreamy she looked. He was lost in the music and wouldn't notice, that she was sure of. And the pull was too much, the need to be close to him so overwhelming that she felt it zing through her nerves like she'd touched an exposed wire by accident. This was like when they were kids, only different. When they were kids, she couldn't voice what the feelings meant, didn't know what you called it beyond a crush. Now she knew, and it made things all the more fragile and bittersweet.

He started to sing and her breath caught, just like it did back in the coffee shop. His voice was so raw and heartbreaking and she could listen to it for hours. The lyrics were familiar, the tune one that made her think of holidays and childhoods and loss and the kind of family she longed for. Choosing it told her so much about just where his mind was, where his heart was. It wasn't on the stoop with her, an audience of strangers strolling by. It was with his family back in Detroit, waiting for that cab to pull up tomorrow, bringing their baby brother home.

_I'm sitting in the railway station  
Got a ticket for my destination  
On a tour of one-night stands, my suitcase and guitar in hand  
And every stop is neatly planned for a poet and a one-man band_

Her vision grew cloudy and she wanted to blame the stray snowflakes that had landed on her glasses, but she knew it was tears. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, willing them to go away – wanting to cherish the moment, not dredge up self-pity and regret. But when she closed her eyes, all she could see was her empty apartment with the twinkle lights she'd hung up in every window and draped along the ceiling, her cat curled up on the couch, and the free turkey defrosting in the refrigerator.

Alone was her choice. Alone made her happy. Alone made her strong. One silly night couldn't change all that and she wasn't going to let it.

_I wish I was homeward bound …_

XxXxXxXxXx

The music drifted through her open window and her pen stilled on the paper. The drum beat was mainly what she heard, incessant and mildly irritating but only because she noticed it and now couldn't un-notice it. Rolling her eyes and silently cursing her neighbor's taste in music, Kathy looked down at her paper and started to reread what she had just written, hoping she could get back into the groove the drums had so rudely interrupted.

Suddenly, she heard the plaintive wail of an out-of-place clarinet and she couldn't help but smile. She knew exactly who that clarinet belonged to and she'd bet a million dollars the rest of the guys were the ones polluting her Saturday afternoon silence with their rock music. She didn't recognize the song; it was probably one Jack wrote and that made her stomach flutter as she tried to concentrate on her work. It was impossible and she found herself straining just to hear the guitar underneath the thumping of the drums and the squeaking of the clarinet. "I'm hopeless," she announced to no one, dropping her pen and laying her head on her desk. "Completely hopeless."

A cool breeze rustled her lace curtains and she glanced out the window. It was sunny out and here she was, as usual, cooped up in her room, writing and daydreaming about fairytales and princes while everyone else was out living their lives.

She had no excuse for staying inside – none. She'd finished her homework a couple of hours ago, did her chores, and now it was her typical Saturday routine: write a little, read a little, write some more, and read some more. She led what may be the most boring life of any thirteen year old girl in Detroit. And she didn't have anyone to blame – not a soul. She was the one becoming a hermit. She was going to be a loser for the rest of her life if she didn't at least try to make some friends. She chewed on her bottom lip, her chest tight at the thought of taking that first step, taking that big leap, but she had to do it. Deciding that she was just going to shut her brain off before she talked herself out of the whole thing, she jumped up from her chair and grabbed her notebook, her Keds and her jacket. She was halfway down the stairs when she sat down to pull on her sneakers. "Mom," she called out. "Mom, I'm going to go out. I'll be home later."

Her mother rounded the corner, a perplexed look on her perfectly made-up face. She even put on make-up on Saturdays, when she didn't do anything except work in her office and ignore Kathy's dad as he spent all day watching sports in the family room. She tried to get Kathy to wear make-up, buying her expensive lipstick and eye shadow. But Kathy couldn't understand why she should bother making her eyes look pretty if she had to hide them behind her stupid glasses anyway. And lipstick made her feel funny, like she was playing dress-up and trying to be popular.

"What do you mean, 'you're going out'? Since when do you go anywhere?" her mother asked, her tone clipped and impatient.

Kathy gnawed on her thumbnail, suddenly sure she was making the wrong decision. Her mother was right, she never did anything on the weekend except for homework. Why was she in such a hurry now? "Well," she started, struggling for the perfect explanation. Her mother was a lawyer and it frustrated her if things weren't explained in a clear, precise manner. Kathy always had to think for a minute before she spoke to get her words just right or risk getting a long lecture about being a silly kid with her head in the clouds.

"I'm waiting," her mom said with an annoyed sigh.

"It's nice out." Kathy mentally patted herself on the back for that one. There was no way her mother could find fault with that. It _was_ nice out. Sunny and breezy and a great fall day.

Her mother didn't react, simply stood there in her slacks and blouse and French manicure and looked at her like she'd just said the sky was purple. "It's nice out," Kathy repeated slowly, "and Hannah invited me over." Oh, no, she'd done it now. She lied. _Lying never ended well,_ she thought as she twisted the shoe laces around her index finger.

Something flashed in her mother's eyes. It looked like a mix of surprise and happiness and Kathy felt guilt twist in her stomach. Her mom really wanted her to find friends and Kathy did, too. It wasn't her fault no one would talk to her, especially not after Matt Wilcox made her his special target and the laughing stock of bus 26. Kids thought being uncool was like a disease, just being near her would make them catch it. Jack was really the only person who would give her the time of day at school.

"Take the dog with you," her mother said without further argument. As if on cue, Chaucer walked up and sat down next to the door, an expectant look on his neatly groomed face. Kathy fought the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

Deciding that since she'd already lied once – "Hannah's allergic," she blurted out. Of course, it could be true. For all she knew, Hannah could be deathly allergic and taking Chaucer to her house could kill her. She was trying to save someone's life here; something like that shouldn't be taken lightly.

"This city is dangerous, even if you're just walking down the street. You're taking Chaucer and that's that."

Her mother turned on her heel and Kathy groaned, leaning her head against the wall as she eyed the fluffy white menace at the bottom of the stairs. She had a flash of Jack falling out of the tree the last time she had to take Chaucer out for a walk and she groaned. "Please don't screw this up," she whispered and the poodle answered with a giant, disinterested yawn.

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack had his back to the open garage door when Kathy walked up, but George saw her and he jumped out of his seat, clutching his clarinet to his chest.

"What the hell, man?" Jack asked and George held out his arm, pointing behind his friend with a look on his face that could only be described as terror. Jack looked behind him and did a bit of a double-take himself, slightly stumbling over his own feet before regaining his composure.

"Oh, uh … hey, Kathy," he said casually.

"Hi, Jack," she said as stood awkwardly in the entrance. Chaucer growled and she leaned down, hoping to shush him before he made a scene.

Steve laughed, a high pitch cackle that made Kathy wince. "Look, George, she brought your friend along," he said, gasping like he was having an asthma attack. No one else laughed and Jack just shook his head.

"It's not funny," George said, taking yet another step back.

Jack sighed. "Kath, about the dog …"

"Don't worry, he'll be fine." She nodded once, pushing her glasses back up on the bridge of her nose, trying to look authoritative, like her mother when faced with an opposing lawyer, or the clerk at the grocery store. Basically, trying to look like her mother when she dealt with anyone and everyone. Jack didn't look like he believed her, but he did give a crooked grin that made her think he was maybe hoping Chaucer would make another play for George's clarinet. She couldn't help it if her mother's dog was a music critic in addition to being a menace to cats and cute guitarists.

"George, the dog is fine," Jack said, rolling his eyes dramatically as he adjusted the microphone, tapping on it a couple of times. "Go have a seat." He nodded toward the corner, which was currently occupied by three girls she recognized from school. They were flipping through magazines and giggling with one another.

They were all dressed like the rest of the non-loser girls at school – pretty sweaters, cool shoes, designer jeans - and Kathy wasn't really sure why they were in Steve's garage, sitting on some overturned milk crates instead of cruising the mall with the rest of their kind. They weren't popular; it wasn't like Ashley Parker was sitting there with her perfect smile, perfect clothes, and perfect hair. They were just normal and smart and silly and Kathy felt so out of place standing in the same garage as them. She knew she should have stayed home.

Kathy hesitated, twisting Chaucer's leash around her wrist. One girl glanced at her from under her blonde fringe of bangs. Her stare was blank as she slowly, methodically chewed her gum, but Kathy couldn't help feeling like she was being studied and so far she was failing. "Um …" Kathy started, looking at Jack for guidance, hoping he'd back her up and let these girls know she didn't have the plague. But he was busy, pointing out words on a sheet of paper Steve was holding, complaining about lyric changes Steve kept making.

"Jack," one of the girls called out. "When are we gonna have a chance to sing? We're supposed to be your back-up singers, but you never write any songs that need us."

"That's the idea," he said under his breath. The girls couldn't hear him, but Kathy could and she smiled. He caught it and smiled back, but it was quickly replaced by a look of annoyance as the girl spoke up again.

"This is getting pretty boring, you know? Just sitting here, listening to you guys play."

"No one invited you," Trevor, the keyboard player, said a little harsher than he probably needed to.

The blonde who had stared Kathy down stood up and planted her hand on her hip, her jaw jutting out. "Steve did." Hearing his name, Steve stepped up with a huge grin on his face. Kathy half-expected him to pound on his chest like he was the king of the jungle.

"Well, Steve also has his brother playing clarinet." Trevor ignored the glare Steve was now shooting his way and continue on. "He ain't exactly the brains of the operation."

"But …" the girl started to protest and Jack sighed. Kathy had a feeling his resolve was breaking down, he was going to give in. Weren't girls like that supposed to know exactly how to get guys to do what they wanted?

"Fine," Jack said, staring at the ceiling. "The next one will have some stuff for you guys. Happy?"

The squeals the three girls let out startled Chaucer and he yelped and barked at them.

_Yep, _Kathy thought, _girls like that knew exactly how to get what they wanted. _

Taking a deep breath, she tightened her hold on Chaucer's pink leash and guided the dog toward the corner and the waiting trio. She didn't see an empty crate to sit on, so she opted for the hard cement floor.

"Cute dog," the blonde said, cracking her gum. As if he knew he was the one being complimented, Chaucer sat down on his haunches and puffed out his chest. He even let her pet him, the traitor.

"Thanks," Kathy muttered with a decided lack of enthusiasm.

XxXxXxXxXx

Kathy had long since abandoned Chaucer to the fawning attention of his new fans. If dogs could have groupies, he had three of the most devoted.

"What if you moved this line to later in the song?" She was hunched over the workbench that was doubling as Jack's desk at the moment. He was right next to her, his forehead almost touching hers as he studied the line she was talking about. He hummed a bit under his breath, testing it out. It took all her willpower to stay rooted in that spot and not pass out right then and there. He was so close; she could reach out and run her fingers through his hair if she suddenly had the urge. Not that she would ever do that, not in a million years, but the fact was she could if she wanted to and that was what mattered.

"You don't think that will change the meaning of the song, the story I'm trying to tell?" he asked, his face screwed up in a serious scowl.

She gnawed on the inside of her cheek. "I guess I can see how it might. But, well, it rhymes better."

He made a face. "This ain't all about rhyming and shit like that."

"I know, but … well … it's easier to sing along if the words rhyme a little. Don't you think?"

He shrugged.

"And then Steve might actually remember the words." She grinned and glanced behind her at his bandmates. They were all sitting on the floor, paging through a _Playboy_ Brad had smuggled out of his house.

"I suppose it couldn't hurt to try it, just once," Jack relented as he picked up his guitar. She knew from their partnership in art class just how stubborn he could be and how much he didn't like to compromise over his creations. She couldn't believe it when he called her over to ask her for her opinion in the first place. It actually took her a minute of sitting there with her mouth wide open like a startled fish to process just what he wanted. Jack Mercer wanted her help. Her. With his music. He didn't have to ask her twice.

The problem was that the lyrics weren't flowing and Steve kept screwing up and Jack was ready to throw his portable amp at him. Trevor, who seemed to be almost as serious about the band as Jack, suggested help and Kathy guessed that out of all the options open to them at the moment, she was the least likely to giggle and suggest changing it to a song about shopping.

"You know about this stuff, right ?" Jack had asked when she walked over. She had no idea what he meant. "You write poetry," he said, pointing to the notebook she had in her hand like it was her security blanket, always carrying it with her.

She blushed and held the book behind her, like she could pretend he hadn't seen it. "Um …"

"Well, it's like poetry, just with music." He suddenly groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. "Man, did that sound as dorky as I think it did?"

"Of course, not. It's just …" Her voice trailed off in mid-protest.

"Normally, I'd figure this out on my own, but I'm stuck and the other guys want to scrap the song unless we get it worked out," he explained quietly as he fidgeted with the paper, curling the edge between his fingers. He was looking down, like admitting he needed help was the hardest thing in the world for him. There really was no way she could say no to him.

Twenty minutes later and they were finally getting somewhere with it. Jack explained the changes to Steve and everyone got back into their places. Kathy pulled out the stool Steve's dad had at the work bench, her feet swinging back and forth as she watched separate from everyone else.

They were on the second verse when a phrase suddenly rang out across the room, a phrase that definitely had no part in Jack's song. "Katherine Ann Price!"

There, framed in the entry to the garage, backlit like some avenging superhero, hell-bent on ruining her life, was the last person she wanted to see at that moment. "M-mom?"

She fell off the stool, the cymbal crash a nice punctuation to her humiliation.

XxXxXxXxXx

She didn't realize she was crying until the song ended, the tears making icy tracks down her cheeks in the cold New York air. Jack was looking at her, a slightly alarmed expression on his face.

"Kath, you okay?" he asked, his voice hushed.

Wiping her cheeks with her rough wool gloves, she smiled a wobbly smile. "I'm fine. Hormones," she explained and then immediately wished she could take it back. If there was one thing guys never wanted to talk about it was …

"H-hormones? Um, sure." He was pale to begin with, but now he looked positively ashen and she bit back a laugh.

"Holidays," she hastily corrected. "I meant holidays."

His shoulders slumped a little as look of relief washed over him. "Yeah, they can suck."

"Yep." Talk about awkward. Her chest still felt tight and she took a trembling breath. She hated crying, especially over her family. They'd selfishly demanded her undivided attention for far too long and breaking free from them had been the moment she'd finally started living her life, by her rules. She wasn't going to start regretting that now.

A middle-aged couple stopped at the bottom of the steps and glanced up at them. "Show's over," Jack said as he pulled the guitar strap over his head. "Sorry."

"We live here," the woman said dryly.

"Oh, shit, sorry," Jack said in a rush, awkwardly standing up and reaching down to help Kathy up.

"Lovely, um, steps you have here," she offered lamely. The woman just gave her a confused look and Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Merry Christmas," Kathy added for good measure. "Or Merry Hanukkah … I mean Happy Hanukkah … you know, if you don't celebrate Christmas. Doesn't it bug you when people just assume? I mean, who's to say everyone celebrates Christmas? Plenty of people don't. I should actually say holidays instead, then you really don't have to worry …" Kathy couldn't stop herself from talking. It was like her mouth had developed some weird case of word diarrhea and she was now scaring these strangers with her stream of consciousness ramblings. She knew she should stop, but that switch was broken. Jack gently grabbed her arm and pulled her to the side, so the poor couple could get inside and away from her. She knew without looking at him that he was trying not to laugh.

The man and woman went inside without a word and, as soon as the door closed behind them, Jack looked at her and grinned. "Lovely steps?"

"Shut up." She turned on her heel and made her way down the steps.

"Just how much tea did you drink tonight? I don't think I've ever heard anyone talk so fast before," Jack said as he followed her.

"Shut. Up." She flipped the end of her scarf over her shoulder, catching him in the face. "If you keep at it, I'll start talking about hormones."

He was putting his guitar back in the case, after fishing a dollar or two and some coins out of it that passerbys had tossed in, when he stopped and stared up at her, a look of horror on his face. "Now that's just mean."

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_A/N_ -_ Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing. Everyone has been so terrific. And of course, a big hug to the girls at GHMB and thanks for reading all the excerpts I kept posting. This chapter took forever, lol._


	7. Chapter 7

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Honey and the Moon_ by Joseph Arthur

**Chapter 7**

_I don't know why I'm still afraid_

_If you weren't real I would make you up_

Kathy's breath came out in cloudy puffs as it hit the cold night air and her cheeks and nose were turning a bright red that clashed with the orange of her ridiculous hat. She kept swiping her yarn covered fingers across her cheeks, brushing away the snow that was coming down heavier with each step they took. He hoped it was just a freak snow shower and not something that would fuck with the train schedule in the morning. The last thing he needed was to be stranded in the city because of a blizzard.

His arm brushed against Kathy's as they walked down the crowded sidewalk. His limp was getting worse and the guitar was growing heavier with each passing minute but he found himself hoping it was still a few blocks to her apartment. She was chattering away – about what, he wasn't sure. But he must have nodded and smiled at all the right places because she just kept going. There was just something so relaxing and calming about her presence and he could think of no reason for it, none at all. She was quirky and awkward and the kind of shy that led to all sorts of bizarre things toppling out of her mouth as she tried to cover her unease with words. But he found himself curious about what would happen next, like he had to get to the end of the chapter before he could put the book down and move on.

"Hello, dear," an old woman called out as Kathy walked past a newspaper stand.

"Hi, Mrs. C," Kathy called back, waving cheerfully.

The old lady was paging through a tabloid. The guy running the place was leaning on the counter, looking over her shoulder, pointing out things as she turned the page. Jack had a feeling this was something of a ritual for the pair of them. He had something like that when he lived in New York. Every morning … okay, afternoon … he'd roll out of bed, find his pack of cigarettes, realize only one was left and it was crushed or broken in half. He'd pull on whatever clothes were lying on the floor next to his bed and then stumble out the door for the corner store, buying a pack of cigarettes, a Dr. Pepper, and whatever nondescript bread product sandwich-thing they had under the heat lamp next to the cash register. Sometimes it had bacon in it, sometimes it didn't. He wasn't picky as long as he had ketchup back in the apartment fridge to drown it in. It could be the worst thing he'd ever eaten … actually, Bobby's cooking came to mind … as long as he had ketchup, he could stomach just about anything.

The guy at the counter – his shirt said Sal – would chat about every goddamn game that was played the night before, no matter what the sport - rattling off all the stats and plays and shit like that. Jack never had the heart to tell him that he had no fucking clue what he was talking about, that he hadn't been much into sports since leaving Detroit. Sports were Bobby's thing and he would have loved talking to Sal. He'd always planned on taking Bobby to that store so the two of them could shoot the shit and argue Michigan versus New York versus the world, but he'd given up on inviting Bobby to visit after a year of unanswered phone calls. You get ignored by your big brother long enough, you stop bothering and just say to hell with him.

Kathy and Jack stopped at an intersection, waiting for the light to change so they could cross without getting pulverized by a cab. "Almost there," Kathy said, pointing across the street to what Jack assumed was her building. "Then you can be on your way. Back to the land of Motown and Bobby Mercer, world record holder for … What was his record for?"

"Being an asshole?" Jack offered with a laugh.

"Close enough."

The light changed and they moved with the crowd across the street, moving as fast as Jack's leg would let them. Once back on the sidewalk, Kathy trudged forward, slowing when they were in front of a ramshackle looking bookstore, its windows covered by heavy metal shutters, the door covered in close to a dozen locks.

"You live here?" Jack asked, even though the answer was obvious.

She nodded as she pulled out a giant set of keys. "My apartment is above the store and I work here on weekends when they need help." She stuck out her tongue and scrunched up her nose as she rifled through the keys, looking for the ones she needed. Jack bit back a laugh – she looked like she was about five, but there was just something so … he shook his head to clear it. He went for rocker chicks and groupies, maybe the occasional wannabe model or actress – cute and adorable had no place in his vocabulary when it came to girls.

She got the door open and she turned to him, a hesitant look on her face, her smile kind of sad. "Well …" she started.

"Well." He adjusted his hold on his guitar case, suddenly not sure what to say.

"Two ships passing in the night?" she asked, fidgeting with the fringe on her scarf.

"Something like that."

"I'd say keep in touch, but …" her voice trailed off.

"Yeah, I know." He cleared his throat. "Merry Christmas, Kath."

"Happy Holidays, Jack," she said with a little wave, stepping back through the door as he took a step in the opposite direction, back into the world and the city and his plans to go home.

He turned to leave, wincing as his knee protested.

"Wait," Kathy suddenly called out. "Um … if you want you can come up."

He raised an eyebrow and a look of slow realization bloomed on her face, making it even more flushed than the cold managed. "To rest your leg," she said in a rush. "Before you have to head back. It looks like cabs are going to be hard to come by tonight and well, you're limping pretty badly."

He didn't answer. "I have ice," she tacked on as though she were upping the ante.

He glanced behind him, down the street, weighing his options. She was right; even though he hated to admit it, his leg hurt like hell and he didn't really feel up to crawling back to his friend's place at the moment.

"Sure," he finally said.

"Really?" she squeaked.

He laughed. "Really."

XxXxXxXxXx

"Man, it looks like a bookstore exploded in here."

"Jack, two bookcases is hardly an explosion of books," Kathy said from the kitchen as she looked through the freezer.

"They are when they've got more books than I've read my entire life," he said as he skimmed his fingers over the bindings. Most were old and yellowed, covers torn and curling and the authors were familiar – lots of dead guys. Lots of dead guys he pretended to read when he was in school. He still had no idea how he managed to graduate. "You can admit these are for show. I bet you've got a stash of trashy romances somewhere around here."

She poked her head around the corner. "Romances aren't trashy," she protested. "And … um, no I don't."

He grinned slyly. "Right."

She came into the room carrying two bags of vegetables. "I'm all out of ice."

"Naturally."

Holding out the two bags, she said, "I've got peas or brussel sprouts."

"Seriously?"

"Beggars can't be choosers, Jack."

"No, I mean you seriously have brussel sprouts? I don't think I've ever met anyone who ate brussel sprouts."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "How do you know?"

"How do I know what?"

"Does brussel sprout consumption come up often during conversations you have?"

"Yes." he said without missing a beat, taking her by surprise.

Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times as she struggled for a comeback. "Oh," was all she managed and she tossed the bag of peas at him. At his head, to be exact. He caught them before they could inflict any real damage.

He limped over to the battered but comfortable looking, pillow-covered couch and … promptly sat on something that let out a high pitched yowl and sank its claws into his ass. "Ow. Son of a bitch!" He jumped back up, hopping awkwardly, rubbing his stinging butt.

The monster bolted from the couch, hissing and spitting at him. "What happened?" Kathy asked as she hurried into the room, glancing between Jack and the orange fiend eyeing him from the coffee table.

"That … that thing attacked me." Jack pointed at the cat who tilted his head to the side and … Jack swore he wasn't hallucinating … rolled his eyes.

"Horatio?" Kathy pointed to the cat who was now licking his paw, probably cleaning off the blood from Jack's wounds.

Jack flopped back onto the couch. "Satan has a name?"

Kathy gave him a shocked look and the scooped up the cat into her arms, holding him against her shoulder she rocked back and forth, muttering cutesy endearments in his ear. "Horatio wouldn't hurt a fly. Isn't that right, Horatio-bear?"

"Right. Pretty sure I'm bleeding to death here."

Horatio was rubbing his head on Kathy's shoulder, purring loudly and giving Jack a smug grin.

"Stop being dramatic," Kathy scolded.

"Are you talking to me or the cat?"

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack abandoned the bag of peas and limped slowly around the apartment, trying to process the overwhelming amount of stuff Kathy managed to cram into such a small place. It reminded him of that art project they worked on together, the collage of crap that somehow morphed into a picture that made sense and got them both an A. With a ton of books, artwork, photos, Broadway posters and just assorted stuff, Kathy had somehow transformed the typical grimy New York apartment, the kind that always seemed to be painted a dingy green even when it wasn't, into cozy, funky home.

"I've never seen so much stuff," Jack said loud enough for Kathy to hear in the kitchen. She was making hot chocolate because the only booze she had in the place was a bottle of wine she opened three months ago. He didn't mind – he was still trying to warm up after the walk in the snow.

"When I left for school, I had to take everything with me," she explained. He moved to the entrance to the tiny kitchen and leaned against the doorjamb, watching as she searched through pots and pans that were crammed into the ancient stove.

"You couldn't leave some of it at home?"

"Aha!" she exclaimed as she stood up, a sauce pan in her hand. "I knew I had one." She put her hand on her hip and looked up at the cabinets above the sink. "Now I just have to remember where I put the chocolate."

Jack was confused – the Kathy he remembered was so organized, everything had its place and there was never any clutter. Her house had looked like a museum compared to his.

"You didn't answer the question," he pointed out. She had his back to him, stirring the milk as it heated up and she shrugged.

"When I moved, I moved. I didn't want to leave anything behind."

He stepped into the kitchen and ran his finger over a ladybug sun catcher she had on the fridge. "Apparently," he said as he studied the collection. There were at least a dozen sun catchers covering the appliance, each one bright and cheery, even beneath the gray tones cast by the ancient light in the ceiling.

She looked over at him. "Those were coming with me no matter what. My grandma gave me those every year for my birthday."

"I remember them," Jack said with a grin. "It was how I knew which window was yours."

She blushed and turned her attention to the milk that was now on the verge of boiling over. "I still can't believe you did that."

XxXxXxXxXx

Kathy hugged her stuffed giraffe, Ichabod, tightly in her arms. She'd finally stopped crying, but now her eyes were swollen and her cheeks felt hot and itchy from the dried tears. The tears had threatened to come the moment her mother appeared in Steve's garage, livid at her for lying about going to Hannah's and for hanging around with kids who were a "bad influence." Kathy found some comfort in the fact that she at least waited until they got in the car to start bawling like a baby.

Glancing out her bedroom window, she was surprised to see it was still sunny out. It felt like hours had passed since she'd wandered into Jack's band practice, but the sun proved her wrong, its rays filtering through the myriad of sun catchers she had hanging on the panes of glass. She loved the way the light formed a colorful kaleidoscope of shapes on her walls and across her floor and bed. It made her forget how Detroit always seemed so gray and cold and brittle, like it was crumbling around her. Sometimes she would just sit in the middle of that rainbow and hold her hand up, twisting it back and forth, watching the colors flow over her skin like paint on a canvas.

Her grandmother started giving her sun catchers when she turned four – that was the year her mother got a job with a law firm in Detroit and uprooted the family, leaving behind their home in Maryland for the promise of bigger and better things in Michigan. Over the years, Kathy had witnessed many fights between her parents and she'd pieced together the fact that her dad was fed up with the city and wanted to move back to the place he loved. Detroit was just supposed to be a stop along the road, a place for her to gain respect and a name for herself so that she could have her pick of jobs at prestigious law firms across the country. Nine years later and it seemed like they were never leaving Detroit.

Kathy's grandmother told her a couple of years ago that the sun catchers were to remind her that there was color and beauty everywhere, but sometimes the place you were in might need a little nudge to reveal the secrets it kept hidden from the world. She liked that idea – that not everything was pretty on the surface, that sometimes it was worth chipping away at something to see what lay beneath.

Sighing, Kathy propped Ichabod on her knees, fidgeting with the threadbare ribbon tied around his neck. He'd been with her for as long as she could remember. His fur was patchy and worn away in places and she never did get the stuffing replaced in the one ear after her cousin had rudely pulled it out, but he was her most prized possession. "I wish we could just run away," she whispered, touching her nose to his. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Suddenly, something pinged against her window, startling her and causing her to drop the stuffed animal. A second passed and then something else bounced off the glass. Tentatively, Kathy walked over to the window and peered out over the small backyard, looking for the source. A rock hit the window square in the middle of her forehead and she yelped, stumbling backward in shock. Catching her breath, she looked again, this time directing her attention right below the window.

Never in a million years did she think she'd gaze upon Jack Mercer, standing beneath her window like some modern day Romeo in a leather jacket and blue jeans. Shakespeare must have cut out the part where Juliet hid in her room, hugging a stuffed animal because her mom made her cry.

Jack bent down, picking a rock up off the ground and pulled his arm back, aiming squarely for her second floor window. Realizing he was going to cause some real damage if she didn't make him stop, she threw open the window as quickly as she could. "Stop," she whisper-yelled down at him.

He dropped the rock and squinted up at her. "Hey, Kathy."

"Hey, Jack," she answered, glancing behind her, half-expecting her mother to be standing in her doorway, ready for round two. The door was still firmly shut and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Her mom had left for the grocery store as soon as she'd yelled herself hoarse at Kathy and made it quite clear that her disappointment could only be cured with a grounding that might stretch into the next decade. She'd be gone for a while, but Kathy couldn't shake the feeling that she'd just materialize out of nowhere, scowling and fuming and embarrassing the heck out of her.

"Can I come up?" Jack hitched his thumb in his belt loop and even from this height, Kathy could tell he had that cute puppy dog look on his face that he used whenever he was trying to get his own way.

"What? … No. My mom'll kill me," she said in a rush.

"She'll never know."

"Liar," she hissed back.

"Trust me."

XxXxXxXxXx

"Trees are much easier to climb when homicidal poodles aren't hanging around," Jack joked as he climbed through her window.

Kathy was pacing back and forth as he struggled to get his foot over the windowsill without falling on his face. "What are you doing here, Jack?" she asked.

"Trying not to break my neck," he muttered, stumbling forward a little, catching himself on the edge of her desk, sending shooting pains down his hip.

"I'm serious." She sat down gingerly on the edge of her bed, twisting the hem of her sweater as she looked up at him, her eyes wide behind her glasses. He could tell she'd been crying. He knew the signs – her eyes were puffy and her nose was red and raw and she kept taking deep breaths like she was trying to calm herself down.

"So am I. I'm always serious," he said, trying to keep his voice light as he scanned the room. It looked so different from his house – Evelyn was always trying to get him and his brothers to clean up after themselves; she'd be in nirvana if she ever saw this place. Everything was neat and orderly and dust free – Jack suddenly had an urge to push a book or two out of place just to see what it would look like. Kathy was the only thing in the room that didn't seem polished and pressed and perfect. She looked sad and worried and he felt his gut clench.

Her mom was so pissed when she found Kathy hanging with them. Thinking about the way her eyes flashed and her fists clenched and her neck turned a livid red – it was like traveling through time and finding himself cornered in the kitchen by a foster mom, being yelled at and kicked because he'd forgotten to put the milk back in the refrigerator. He could still feel the way her high heels had dug into his thigh, leaving triangle shaped bruises that his gym shorts couldn't hide. Bruises that got him out of that house and dumped into another – just one more random stop in the game of musical chairs that had been Jack's life before being adopted.

Just the thought that someone could hurt Kathy like that made him want to hit something as hard as he could. Glancing at her as he pretended to be interested in the history book on her desk, he didn't see any bruises, but her sleeves were long and the real pros knew not to hit the face or any other spot that clothes couldn't hide. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly, trying not to scare her.

She nodded. "I'm fine."

"Fine for real or fine just because you think that's what you should say?"

"What?" She gave him a confused look, pulling some stuffed giraffe off her bed and clutching it to her chest.

He started pacing, running his fingers through his hair as he searched for the right words. "I just wanted to make sure … I mean …" he faltered, realizing he really wasn't very good at this interrogation stuff. He should have taken notes when Evelyn made him go see that shrink because of his nightmares – she'd tricked him into saying all sorts of shit.

He stopped in his tracks and took a step toward her. "Look, it's just that your mom seemed really upset." There, he'd said it. Now that ball was in her basket, or whatever the hell that saying was.

"She gets mad sometimes," Kathy said, trailing a finger over the nose of the giraffe.

"I figured."

"She's got a lot of stuff going on," Kathy explained and Jack almost winced at the excuse. "Her job is important."

Instead of answering, he took a seat on the bed, perched on the edge just like Kathy was, trying not to disturb the carefully arranged quilt and pillows. Kathy swallowed heavily and looked down at her lap, her hair falling forward and covering her face. "I shouldn't cause problems." Her voice was small.

"Evelyn could help," he said. "She's awesome at helping out kids who need um, help."

Kathy jumped up from the bed, the giraffe falling off her lap and onto the floor. "What? No, it's not like that …" Her face was pale, making the red blotches from crying standout even more.

"It's not your fault if it is like that." Now he was starting to sound like that shrink and he mentally patted himself on the back.

"No, really, she just yells a lot."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Kathy sat back on the bed, sighing heavily. "I don't think she likes me very much."

Jack looked at her, his gaze steady and unwavering. "Well, she's an idiot and she doesn't know what she's missing."

XxXxXxXxXx

"That was very sweet of you," Kathy said as she sat down on the couch.

Jack laughed, remembering his less than graceful exit from her room, the one where he missed a branch and fell out of his second tree in as many weeks. "Yeah, very chivalrous of me - coming to your rescue and all."

"Like a knight in shining armor." She grinned, blowing on her hot chocolate.

"Or a loser in a leather jacket." He laughed, petting Horatio on the back of his neck, ruffling his fur - the two of them had come to an understanding and called a truce and now the cat wouldn't leave him alone. Jack's leg was propped up on the coffee table, both the peas and brussel sprouts defrosting on his knee because Kathy insisted one wasn't enough.

"It was sweet."

"Yeah, you said that." He looked the white twinkle lights draped across the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the room. A tiny tree was on top of the TV, decked out in miniature ornaments. There was a stack of presents on the floor next to the coffee table, some wrapped, some not and Jack also noticed some shipping boxes stacked in the corner, already addressed and waiting to go out.

"So, what are your plans for Christmas?" he asked, even though he had a feeling he knew the answer.

She looked down, suddenly very interested in counting the marshmallows in her cup. "I think I need more marshmallows," she announced, jumping up from her seat. "How about you? Need more?" He opened his mouth to answer, but she just kept talking, barely pausing for a breath. "I should just bring the bag out here. One of the benefits of being an adult – you can put as many marshmallows in your hot chocolate as you want."

Anchored by a swollen knee and frozen produce, Jack watched from the couch as she hurried back into the kitchen. "Kath," he called after her, "marshmallows aren't going to save you from answering the question."

She returned with the bag and an overflowing mug. "I was going to answer it."

"Uh huh."

"Nothing earth shattering. I'm spending it here with my cat. It's my little gift to myself." She smiled but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Jack was finding it surprisingly easy to read her – just like when they were kids. "I don't have to deal with the drama and disappointment of my mother or the tantrums of my dad's kids. Just me, my cat and the turkey I'm going to cook to perfection because I say so."

"Sounds exciting."

"I don't do exciting."

"You could try. Come home with me. Hell, bring the turkey. Bobby probably forgot to buy one anyway." He had no idea where that came from – but once he said it, he realized just how right it sounded. Kathy shouldn't be alone for Christmas anymore than he belonged with his ex-bandmates in a shitty apartment in New York City for the holidays. She was running just like he was, but she didn't realize it.

Kathy smiled a sad smile. "I'm a big girl, Jack. I don't need rescuing anymore."

* * *

_O_

_O_

_O_

_A/N - I changed a couple of things in chapters that had been previously posted. Kathy now lives alone without a roommate and her apartment is above a bookstore, not a jewelry store. Just thought I'd point them out in case anyone noticed. Thanks again for reading and reviewing :) _


	8. Chapter 8

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Cannonball _by Damien Rice

**Chapter 8**

_There's still a little bit of your song in my ear  
There's still a little bit of your words I long to hear_

The conversation had died a pathetic death – he seemed to have a knack for that. It was one of the reasons he usually kept his mouth shut; not saying a damn thing sure beat the hell out of saying something stupid.

Kathy wasn't looking at him and he couldn't blame her. The last thing a person who was going to be alone for Christmas wanted was to be reminded of that fact. _Real smooth, Jack,_ he thought to himself with a tired sigh.

He slowly sat up, the bags of frozen vegetables sliding off his knee and onto the floor. He winced as he bent the swollen joint, hating how it was a constant reminder of just how fucked up last year had been, how close he'd come to losing everything. He could live with the scars; he was just getting tired of living with the pain. Normally it wasn't so bad, a slight limp and a constant ache that was better than any forecaster for predicting rain, but he'd ignored every single sign he'd had over the past month that he was pushing it and not taking care of himself and now he was paying for it. His brothers were going to give him hell tomorrow, Bobby especially. He couldn't wait for the chorus of _told you so's_ he was sure to hear. He missed his mother more than anything, but he didn't need his brothers to try and fill that void.

Horatio looked up at him and he gave the surly cat a quick, gruff rub between his ears. The cat leaned against him, smiling contentedly and purring. He stopped, but the little guy pushed at his hand, his lip curling slightly, his intention clear. _Don't you dare think about stopping_. His backside still stinging from their first encounter, he complied, wondering how someone as warm and fuzzy as Kathy wound up with such cranky animals.

"Got a fire escape?" he asked. Now the cat was on his back and Jack had to rub his stomach and dodge the occasional claw tipped swipe when he got it wrong. He'd slept with wannabe models less high maintenance than that cat.

"Hmm?" Kathy asked, looking up from her mug.

"Fire escape? Some place to sit? If I spend any more time with your cat, I think I'm going to have to ask him to marry me."

Kathy jumped up, startling Horatio, who bolted from the couch despite his newfound Jack-obsession. "Give me a sec. I've got an idea," she announced as she rushed down the tiny hallway that stretched into the back of her apartment and what Jack assumed was her bedroom.

When she reappeared, she was carrying an armload of blankets and her keys were dangling from her fingers. "Even better than the fire escape." The keys rattled as she shook them. "The roof."

"Perfect," Jack said as he slowly stood and grabbed the two mugs of hot chocolate. Pausing for a second, he reached down and snagged the bag of marshmallows.

XxXxXxXxXxXx

The snow made it look like the city was in a spotlight. Flakes drifted down slowly, catching the light from the buildings and street below, magnifying them by a thousand, turning the world a soft, hushed white. A thin layer coated everything and Jack almost hated walking across the roof to get to the two lawn chairs that were set up on the far side, near the ledge. He didn't want to disturb something so peaceful.

Kathy looked back at him, pushing her hair back with her yarn-covered fingers. "Wanna make snow angels?"

Jack laughed. "Not really, no."

She grinned. "Me neither."

"Liar."

Her surprised gasp was perfect. "Am not."

"You can't fool me. As soon as I leave, you're gonna come right back up here and make a snow angel." He nodded with exaggerated thoughtfulness, studying her. "I bet you dance when no one's watching, too."

Her steps faltered and she glanced over her shoulder, a confused look on her face. "What does that mean?"

He shrugged and limped past her, reaching the chairs before she did. "Nothing."

Brushing the snow off the cheap plastic chair, Kathy said, "Now who's the liar?"

Sitting the mugs on the chest high brick wall circling the perimeter of the roof, he picked his chair up and shook it, knocking some of the snow off before sitting down. "It was just an observation."

She shook a blanket out and handed it to him before settling into her own chair, a rainbow colored afghan wrapped around her legs. He tossed the marshmallows at her and she caught them. "Figured you'd want more. Keep that sugar rush going."

Sticking her tongue out at him, she reached into the bag and pulled out three more. "Okay, so it was an observation?"

"Huh?"

"You said it was just an observation. An observation of what?"

He swallowed heavily, suddenly unsure of where this conversation was going and if there was anyway he could keep from looking like a complete ass by the end of it. "Um …" he started carefully. "What I meant was, well, my niece Daniela, she's shy." He had no idea where that came from, but he went with it, hoping it made sense.

"Okay …"

"And she plays real quietly and keeps to herself a lot more than her sister Amelia, who is pretty much a train wreck in a pink dress. She's trouble." He looked at his mug, twisting it back and forth, watching as the marshmallows slowly dissolved in the hot liquid. "Every once in a while, though, when she doesn't think anyone is looking, Daniela will start dancing around – twirling like a wild woman – like there's music playing only she can hear. Jerry figures she's the safe one, that he'll only have to worry about Amelia. But I think Daniela might put a gray hair or two on his head."

"You think I'm a wild woman?" Kathy almost choked on her drink.

Jack laughed. "Well, maybe not wild. But I bet sometimes you just want to stand up and scream at the top of your lungs. Let go for once. Go crazy."

"And make snow angels?" She scrunched up her nose.

"And make snow angels," he repeated. "Well, metaphorical snow angels, I guess."

"That was deep, Jack."

"Thank you."

Jack stood up and made his way to the edge of the roof, leaning over the wall, looking down, the city mostly quiet all the way up there. A stray siren and car horn drifted up, but all of the color was gone – the shouting and laughing and snippets of random songs and the drone of traffic that all merged into one, creating a sort of music all its own.

"You miss them," Kathy said, joining him, the afghan now wrapped around her shoulders. "Your family."

He ran his finger through the snow on the ledge, drawing a meandering branch he dotted with crooked leaves every few inches. "Yeah. I do. Spent all those years trying to get away and now I'm not sure I want to."

"No shame in that."

"I know, I just don't want to take a big step backwards, ya know? Don't want to throw everything away. Not that there's much to throw away in the first place." He laughed to break the tension, but Kathy just moved closer, her shoulder brushing against his arm. He turned and reached out, brushing some snow from her hair before he realized what he was doing. His hand stilled in the air and he dropped it, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I got them great presents," he said in a rush, trying to change the topic.

"Really?"

'Yeah. Um … got Daniela a guitar." Kathy smiled at that one and she got that "Aww" look on her face chicks got around puppies and babies. Jack paused for effect, he had a feeling he'd know what the response to the other present was going to be. Every adult he'd told about it had the same one. "And I got Amelia a small drum set I found at a pawn shop."

She swatted his arm and a look of horror crossed her face. "You got a little kid drums?"

He grinned proudly. "Yep. Jerry's gonna love it."

"That's so mean."

XxXxXxXxXxXx

"Don't touch anything in here, guys," Jerry said and Jack groaned. Steve, of course, immediately reached out and ran his fingers over a glass display case, leaving a greasy smudge across the clean surface.

"I mean it." Jerry glared steadily at Steve who took a step back, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets, scuffing his sneaker on the dark grey carpet.

"Jerry, we're supposed to be looking for Christmas presents for Ma," Jack complained. He looked around; all the glass cases were lit from inside, sparkling jewelry on display. _Expensive_ sparkling jewelry.

"What do you think we're doing?" His brother laughed, flashing a big white smile as he looked over his shoulder at the other customers browsing the jewelry store. Jerry then leaned down and pulled Jack closer by the collar of his jacket, his face suddenly dead serious. "Please, don't screw this up for me, Jackie."

Jack scrunched his face up, confused. "Screw what up?"

Right then, as if on cue, a pretty black girl behind the counter walked over to them, smiling cheerfully. "How can I help you gentlemen today?"

Jerry stood up, straightened his shirt, squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. His eyes were glued to the girl and he looked nervous as hell. "Camille," he said, nodding slightly.

Her smile grew. "Jeremiah. I didn't recognize you without your work overalls on. You do clean up nice."

"I forgot you said you were working here," he said and Jack coughed. Jerry shot him a "shut up" look out of the corner of his eye and Jack sighed and leaned against the display case.

"Just for the holidays," Camille said, pulling out a set of rings, pretending to show them to Jerry. A guy on the far side of the store in a very important looking suit glanced their way and Jack figured he must be her boss or something. "Lookin' for something special?" she asked and Jerry nodded.

"Yeah, something for my mother. Something nice. Work's been good and she deserves something special."

That did the trick. Camille tilted her head, a wistful look on her face. "That's so sweet."

Jerry shrugged, suddenly bashful and Jack narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, well my mother's a special lady," Jerry said and Camille laughed softly and ran her finger over Jerry's hand.

"You can tell a lot about a man by how he treats his mama."

Now it was Steve's turn to cough. Jerry turned and looked down at them, like he just realized he wasn't alone. "Why don't you kids go look around the mall?"

"Who you callin' kids?" Jack crossed his arms. This was not the way today was supposed to go. Jerry was supposed to help him find a great gift for Evelyn. He had exactly seventeen dollars in his pocket and a shit lot of good that was going do him in a jewelry store where the best he could hope for was an empty box with a bow.

Jerry gave Camille an apologetic look and knelt down, like he had to get a toddler under control, not his thirteen year old brother. "Jack," he said calmly, practically under his breath. "Just give me twenty minutes. I'll get you an ice cream cone or something."

"A comic book," Jack said.

Confusion flashed in Jerry's eyes. "What?"

"I want a comic book. Ice cream's not gonna cut it, Jerry. Comic book or I'm not going anywhere." Camille chuckled behind him, but Jack wasn't going to back down.

Jerry's shoulder slumped. "Fine, a comic book."

"Steve, too," Jack added and his brother sighed.

"No way…" Jerry started, but Jack leaned back further, planting his feet firmly on the floor, making it clear he wasn't going to budge. "Fine. Steve, too."

Jack pushed away from the counter, his mouth hanging open. It had actually worked. He couldn't believe it. "For real?"

"Wicked," Steve blurted out, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Jerry sighed and reached out, ruffling Jack's hair. "Get outta here, kiddo, before I change my mind."

XxXxXxXxXx

The mall was jam packed and Jack had to fight off a wave a claustrophobia that swept over him when he and Steve stepped out of the jewelry store. After a minute or two, his breathing calmed down and he was able to focus on his surroundings which were basically people. Lots and lots of people. All wearing heavy winter coats and all carrying bulging bags full of last minute Christmas presents. Annoyingly festive Christmas music wafted down from the rafters, trying to force cheer on the miserable and broke whether they wanted it or not.

Evelyn had taken him shopping last week for gifts for his brothers – stupid shit that he picked out without really having a clue what to give them. Angel was still planning on going into the Marines once he flunked out of his first semester of community college. He did the college thing as a favor to Evelyn, just to try it out. But Jack knew he didn't even bother going most days, instead driving over to Sofi's to do whatever it was that they did for five or six hours a day while Angel was supposed to be in class. And that basically summed up all he really knew about Angel – he liked the Marines, hated school, and maybe loved Sofi. Jack had stared blankly at the hip hop section of the record store for what felt like an hour before just reaching out and blindly grabbing a CD that looked okay.

He bought a book for Jerry. He wasn't sure why, but Jerry just seemed like a guy you would give a book to. Bobby was the hard one – give him the wrong gift and he'd give you shit for it for days on end, that Jack was sure of. A signed hockey puck he found in a sports shop seemed like a good bet and Evelyn pitched in a little extra to help him pay for it.

All that was left was Evelyn and Jerry got the honor of dragging his thirteen year old brother and best friend all around Tower Center Mall three days before Christmas.

Steve tugged on his arm, trying to drag him down one of the side hallways that had the more ghetto shops people tended to ignore, stuff like shoe repair and tuxedo rentals. "Comics are this way."

Jack shook his head. "Come on, we can go there later. I need to get a present for my mom. That's the whole reason we're here in the first place."

Jack looked up and down the hallway, not caring that he was stopped dead center in mall traffic. He squinted, seeing someone familiar walking on the opposite side and disappearing into the drugstore. Grabbing Steve's sleeve, he pulled, dragging his friend across the sea of people. "Hurry, before I let go and you disappear, never to be seen from again," he shouted.

"What the hell, Mercer?" Steve wheezed when they reached their destination. "You only move that fast when you're being chased."

Jack ignored him, walking into the brightly lit store, not waiting to see if Steve was following.

"Drugstore? What are you gonna get your mom here? Depends?" Steve, of course, laughed at his own joke. "Metamucil?"

"Shut up, man," Jack said under his breath.

Steve stopped in his tracks when they passed the perfume display. "Wait, Jack – get your mom this. I get it for my mom for her birthday every year."

Jack picked up the pink bottle, took a sniff and winced, assaulted by a sickening sweet smell. "Love's Baby Soft," he read the label. "That seems kind of lame."

"Right. And you know so much about what girls like."

"They don't usually smell like cotton candy," Jack argued.

"They _all _smell like cotton candy."

"Well, moms don't." He put the bottle down and picked up another one when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hi, Jack," Kathy said brightly as he turned around. She was wearing a sweater with a reindeer on it and a silly looking Santa hat was on her head, making her hair puff out on either side of it like a fuzzy halo.

"Hey, Kathy."

"Nice hat," Steve said dryly and her cheeks colored as she pulled it off and shrugged.

"There was a stand selling them and my mom made me wear it," she said softly.

"It's nice," Jack blurted out, trying to keep her from feeling embarrassed.

She looked up at him and smiled. "You think?"

"Sure." He had a feeling that day was going to end with him wearing one if she had her way. Somehow everything in his life, when it came to Kathy Price, turned against him and made him the butt of some cosmic joke. He was getting used to it and was actually disappointed when nothing ridiculous happened around her on those rare occasions that didn't end with him falling out of a tree.

She picked up the bottle he had just put down and spritzed some of the perfume on her wrists. Breathing deeply, a wistful look crossed her face. "I love this stuff, but my mom won't let me wear it."

"Why am I not surprised?" Jack said under his breath.

Kathy's mom appeared at the end of the aisle, looking annoyed as usual. "There you are. I told you to wait for me, not make me look all over the store for you."

"Just a minute," Kathy said loud enough for her mom to hear. She pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose and she looked so different from the happy girl that had greeted them minutes ago. "I gotta go."

"Merry Christmas," Jack said half heartedly and Kathy held out the hat for him.

"Here," she said with a grin. "It'll look better on you."

"Um, thanks," he said as he gingerly pulled it on over his carefully messed up hair.

Her smile widened and he figured any grief Jerry was going to give him for wearing it was worth it. "Merry Christmas, Jack."

As she hurried down the aisle, he picked the bottle back up and looked at the price marked on the bottom. Fifteen dollars would use up all of his money but he hesitated, figuring it couldn't hurt to carry it around as he browsed for something for his mother. It wasn't his fault he slipped it into his pocket in that way that Angel had showed him. It was more an accident that anything, at least that was the argument he had given the rent-a-cop when he got busted for shoplifting.

Of course, the getting busted thing happened after he managed to get his mom the coolest gift. He knew it the minute he saw it that he had to get it for her. That nothing the other guys would get her could top it. Well, maybe whatever jewelry Jerry blew his money on to impress the girl at the counter. That might beat a Chia Pet, but it was going to be tough. He didn't realize there were so many options – Chia Head, Chia Kitten, Chia Teddy Bear. All worthy selections, but he decided to go with the classic Chia Whateverthatwas. He stared at the box for a couple of seconds before giving up on identifying it. It was the pottery that grows, that was all that really mattered.

XxXxXxXxXx

"I can't believe you bought your mom a Chia Pet and that you got busted for stealing pink perfume." Kathy was laughing so hard that the sound bounced off the buildings surrounding them, drowning out the honking and the sirens.

"Jerry had to come break us out of rent-a-cop jail," Jack continued, marveling at just how ridiculous the whole thing sounded. "And he refused to buy us those comics."

Jack could still remember the look on his brother's face, like Jack had stabbed Rudolph and asked him to help him hide the body. It probably hadn't helped that security went to the jewelry store to get him and embarrassed him in front of Camille.

"I don't blame him," Kathy said, her laughter dying to a soft chuckle. "Did you still have the Santa hat on?"

"What do you think?" He brushed up against her, nudging her shoulder gently.

She looked up at him, her eyes bright and dancing behind her glasses.

He leaned down and whispered in her ear. "I still owe you that bottle, you know."

"I'm gonna hold you to that, Mercer."


	9. Chapter 9

Note: I do not own _Four Brothers_ or _Falling Slowly _by Markéta Irglová & Glen Hansard

**Chapter 9**

_Falling slowly, sing your melody  
I'll sing along_

He was looking at her in a way that made her heart trip, like a spark jolted it out of rhythm and it had to catch back up. She fought the urge to pinch her arm, to wake herself up and tumble out of the dream she'd fallen into.

If she had even an ounce of courage, she'd lean over, close the gap between them, and kiss that kiss she'd been waiting for since she was thirteen. He nudged her arm again and said something about New York winters having nothing on winters in Detroit and she nodded dumbly. He could say the sky was chartreuse and she'd agree with him; ask her to leap off the building right then and there and she wouldn't give it a second thought. He grinned – that lazy lopsided grin that got her every time.

Suddenly she became acutely aware of every tiny detail. He couldn't keep still, his hands constantly moving, drawing in the snow like Mother Nature had provided him with his own personal sketch pad. He was humming softly, lost in the music that seemed to flow through him. The sound was gentle, lulling – totally at odds with the mussed hair, tattered jeans and tattoos.

He'd always been like that – the kid you assumed was trouble, the one that your mother warned you about. Somehow she'd always known that he wasn't really like that. There was more to him than the smartass who screwed up in class and got sent to detention for smoking in the bathroom. He was kind and funny and sweet – she bit back a laugh. God, he'd never let her live it down if he knew half the things that were running through her brain at that moment. She'd always been accused of over-romanticizing things, of living in a dream world, but when your real world consisted of an emotionally distant father and an overbearing mother, an escape kept you sane.

Her escape was writing and she had a feeling Jack's was music. She'd never really thought about it before – just how much they have in common. Imagine that – the dork with the glasses and the cat and the apartment full of books having something in common with the rocker guy who lived his life in moments and took chances. He'd argue that he wasn't taking any chances at all, she knew that. But he was. She didn't think she'd be able to go to New York, get up on stage and pour her heart out to strangers if she'd been through even half of what he'd been through. Courage came in all shapes and sizes.

She seemed to be the world's biggest scaredy cat at that moment, though. _Kiss him!_ her brain screamed at her. She gave it a mental kick in the butt, telling it to shut up and leave her alone.

"Seeing anyone?" Jack's deep voice cut through her thoughts and she blinked slowly at him.

"What?" she asked, trying to get her bearings. Did Jack Mercer really just ask her if she was single?

He grinned, drawing a lopsided heart in the last bit of unblemished snow that was laid out before him on the ledge. "Boyfriend? Girlfriend? The usual."

She felt her cheeks grow hot for the thousandth time that night and shook her head. "No. Not for a while." _Like a year_, she thought to herself, remembering her last failed relationship with the too-pretentious-for-his-own-good fifth-year senior she'd met in one of the studio art classes she took to fill up her credit requirements. He was everything she thought she wanted – smart, opinionated, attractive, worldly. And boring and pompous and self-centered and he didn't like cats. That last one had been the deal breaker.

"You?" She tried to sound causal and she guessed she'd succeeded when he shrugged.

"Nah. No one. It's been a while, too." He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, like a wall had dropped between them. "I want to say not since the shooting, but it seems longer, you know?"

She wasn't really sure what he meant and decided to just stay silent and let him talk through whatever he needed to talk through.

He brushed the side of his hand through the scribbles he'd painstakingly drawn moments earlier, erasing them; a shower of snow drifting off the side of the building, dispersing in the wind. "I wonder if I've ever really been in one to begin with," he said quietly, looking over the ledge. He left that statement hanging in the air and she felt a moment of panic, a moment where her mind went blank and she struggled for words.

"Um …" she started, drawing the word out as she searched for something, anything to say.

He saved her with a tired laugh. "Almost dying certainly has a way of showing you just how fucked up your life really is. Take you for instance," he said, motioning toward her and she held her breath, certain he was going to point out her empty existence full of meaningless classes and a cat that loved her because she knew how to open a pull-top can. But he didn't; instead, what he said surprised her.

"I've said more to you in a couple of hours than I've said to any other woman in my life, other than Evelyn, of course." He fished a cigarette out of his pocket, lighting it behind his cupped hand, blocking the wind. "I don't know … I guess I have no idea how to be in a relationship." He blew out a cloud of smoke and shook his head. "Pathetic, huh?"

Kathy twisted her scarf up in her shaking hands and took a step toward him. "Maybe you just weren't ready yet."

"Maybe I never will be." He laughed again and Kathy felt her heart twist at the defeated sound. He kept talking, his deep voice wrapping around her. "You can take the guy out of the fucked-up childhood, but you can't take the fucked-up childhood out of the guy."

XxXxXxXxXx

The fire alarm jolted Jack awake. He raised his head up off the desk, confused. He wasn't even sure which class he was in. Glancing down, he looked at the book he'd fallen asleep on, hoping for a clue. Math. Great, he groaned. His least favorite class and the one he was most likely to fail. At least the fire alarm bought him a get out of jail free card for the rest of the period. If his luck held out, maybe it was a bomb threat and he could skip the rest of the day and miss the quiz in History he forgot to study for.

Everyone was gathering their stuff to file out into the hallway and out into the parking lot. Kathy was already at the door, her backpack slung over her shoulder, practically toppling her backwards since she had every book known to man crammed into the thing. Glancing over her shoulder, her gaze locked with his and she gave him one of her patented goofy little waves. He couldn't help grinning but he stopped himself from waving back.

She was waiting for him when he finally dragged his half-asleep ass to the door. Their teacher was by the door, frowning at Jack. He was taking too long, as usual. If it was a real fire, he figured he could muster enough fear to move faster than a snail's pace, but he wasn't going to exert himself to stand in the cold for five minutes before being sent back inside.

"Some urgency, please," Mr. Mitchell pleaded with a sigh. Jack gave him a tired salute before shuffling out the entrance, Kathy by his side.

The alarm was echoing down the hallway, trying in vain to compete with the whoops and hollers of the students celebrating any sort of freedom, however fleeting. He was about to say something to Kathy about trying to decide if he should skip the rest of the day or not when someone slammed into his back, hard. He stumbled into the lockers and knocked Kathy over. She landed on the floor, coming close to being trampled by the kids behind them.

"What the …" Jack started before he saw Matt Wilcox and his idiot friends. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out just who had hit him.

"Well, if it isn't Queen and King Loser." Matt's laugh rivaled a sick donkey's and he nudged the big guy next to him, giving him his cue to cackle like a moron too. In the last few months, Matt's pack had grown to five and they all followed him like was the coolest guy in school.

A couple years ago, when he transferred schools after moving in with Evelyn, Jack had trouble with bullies and getting roughed up and picked on in class and after school. That didn't last long though, not after Bobby cornered one guy who used to beat on him. Bobby broke the kid's arm. After that, Jack realized he didn't want to have to rely on his older brother to fight all his battles for him and he tried to toughen up a little. It wasn't hard once he started to gain some confidence and make some friends. It was nice to not worry about moving to a new school and having to start from scratch every six months or so.

He eventually let down his guard and started to trust people and Steve wound up being his first real friend in as long he could remember. But even still, Jack kept him at an arm's length about some stuff. Steve was cool, though - he never really asked much about Jack's past and Jack was happy he didn't have to share. Kathy was different; she looked at him like she could tell what he was hiding. Sometimes that scared him, but sometimes that also made him feel okay, like he had someone on his side.

So despite building up a not too crappy reputation, being nice to Kathy had painted a big target on Jack's back as far as Matt Wilcox was concerned. The guy was obsessed with making her life a living hell. He usually backed down when he saw Jack was with her, but that obviously wasn't an issue for him that day.

The hall was clearing out and a teacher walked by them. "Is there a problem here?" she asked.

Matt clasped a hand on Jack's shoulder and grinned. "Nope. We're fine. Right?"

Kathy was struggling to stand up, her backpack weighing her down like an anchor. One of the meatheads reached out to steady her and she flinched slightly. Jack took a step, ready to tell the guy to get his hands off her, but Matt's grip tightened on his shoulder. "Right, Mercer?" he said.

The teacher was standing there, waiting for an answer. The last thing Jack needed was another afternoon spent in detention. He'd finally finished the last round a couple of days ago and he liked getting home in time to watch some MTV before Evelyn made him do his homework. "Yeah, we're fine, whatever."

"Stop dawdling," the teacher said, her lips pressing into a thin line. Jack's eyes narrowed. _Dawdling? Seriously? Who talked like that?_

"We're right behind you, ma'am," Matt said, his voice bright with fake sincerity. Jack rolled his eyes, positive the lady was going to see right through it but she just nodded and headed for the exit.

Matt pushed on his shoulder. "Let me go, man," Jack hissed but Matt just laughed. The guy who helped Kathy still had his hand on her arm and he was steering her as they walked down the hall.

"What's the plan?" the kid asked. Kathy looked behind her, her gaze locking with Jack's. She looked scared, which just succeeded in making Jack more pissed.

"Let go of me, asshole." Jack jabbed his elbow back, nailing Matt in the side. The other boy wheezed and his grip loosened, but he pushed to the side, ramming Jack into the lockers.

"Here's the fucking plan," he bit out as he fought against Jack's struggles. Matt was reaching for the door to the right of the locker he'd dented with Jack's shoulder. Before he knew what was happening, Jack was shoved into a dark room – the janitor's closet, judging by the smell of dirty mops and bleach. Kathy was right behind him, tripping over his feet, causing them both to crash to the ground.

He got up as quickly as he could, but the door slammed on him just as his fists smashed into it. "What the hell!" he shouted as he angrily twisted the doorknob. It was locked, either an automatic lock, or Matt had jammed it from the outside.

"Enjoy your seven minutes in heaven with your dog, Mercer! Always knew you losers would hook up!" Matt's voice was muffled through the heavy wood door and Jack could barely hear it over the blaring fire alarm. That didn't stop him from shouting back.

"Fuck you, man. I will kick your ass."

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack gave up on anyone hearing them on the other side of the door. The alarm was still blaring, bouncing off the walls like a ping pong ball gone insane. Plus, everyone was outside anyway, pretending the building was on fire.

"Lights," Kathy said. "There's gotta be a light switch around here somewhere." Her hand smacked into his forehead as she flailed around, groping for the light. "Sorry," she said, but he didn't answer.

He was frozen in place. The darkness suddenly had a weight to it, a weight that was descending on him slowly, pushing the air out of his lungs as he fought to keep his knees from buckling.

"Yes!" Kathy yelled out in triumph as she flipped the switch she'd finally found.

The bare bulb in the ceiling came on, revealing just how cramped the space they were stuck in was. But it was barely a flash of light before a crackling sound shot through the tiny room and the bulb burnt out. Jack didn't even have the strength the laugh at their shitty luck; he was too busy trying to fend off his first full-fledged panic attack in months.

He tried to remember what his shrink told him to do – something about breathing deeply and visualizing his "happy place", whatever in the hell that meant. He couldn't even begin to picture anything other than darkness. It was in front of him, behind him, above him, below him … he was drowning in it.

"Jack?" Kathy sounded worried, like it was dawning on her she was trapped in there with a crazy person. She reached out and touched his arm and he jumped back, banging into the metal shelving lining the wall behind him, knocking stuff over as it rocked back and forth, obviously not anchored into the cement wall.

Kathy drew in a breath and he felt her touch his arm again. She had guts, he'd give her that much. He pulled his arm away from her, trying to keep from freaking out and scaring both of them.

"Stupid shit." A voice hissed behind him and he stumbled forward, tripping as he lurched to the other side of the room.

"Waste of space." Another voice – this one thin and thready and full of hate. He remembered that voice. "No one wants a dumb fuck like you."

"Shut up," he pleaded through clenched teeth, covering his ears as he sank to the floor, unable to block out the memories.

"J-Jack …" Kathy stuttered and he shut his eyes, ashamed that she had to see him like this. If only that fucking alarm would stop …

He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, resting his head on his knees, hoping that if he could just make himself small enough, he would disappear.

Kathy sat down next to him, his brain registered that much. There wasn't much room and her shoulder brushed up against his. He wanted to scoot away, to put distance between them, but he had nowhere to go. "Tell me what to do," she said quietly.

He laughed, the sound tearing from his chest and coming uncomfortably close to sounding like a sob.

"Please, Jack, I mean it. Tell me what to do. What's wrong?" He could picture her perfectly – her eyes wide and fearful, but completely trusting and naïve. Her hands nervously wringing the hem of her sweater as she chewed on her bottom lip. He latched onto that image, onto the feel of her shoulder leaning lightly against his, and the voices got quieter, fading slightly.

He took a deep breath, wincing as it shuddered into his lungs, certain the sound of his fear and shame echoed around the cramped room. "N-nothing," he managed to say.

"What?"

"Nothing. There's nothing you can do."

"I don't believe you." He marveled at the determination in her voice. Any other girl would be pounding on the door to get away from the psycho they were trapped with, but here she was, basically calling him a liar.

He leaned a little bit more to the left, allowing more of his weight to press into her side. He seemed to draw strength from her, like he did when Evelyn would wake him up from a nightmare and sit with him until he fell asleep again. He never thought he'd find someone else like that, someone who helped him fight back the darkness.

She didn't move, just stayed put in that same spot. Maybe she sensed it too, sensed that what he needed most was just for someone to stick it out with him.

"Is it getting better?" she whispered after a couple of minutes.

"A little," he admitted, his voice weary. He felt strung out, but the room was finally starting to feel more like a crappy janitor's closet and less like a deep, bottomless pit. "Sorry you waited for me when the alarm went off?" he asked, realizing she'd be in the parking lot if it wasn't for him, probably reading a book, waiting to be let back inside.

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now," she said.

"Right," Jack said with a tired laugh.

She rested her head on his shoulder, her frizzy hair tickling his cheek. Her voice was so quiet, he barely heard her. "I mean it, Jack."

XxXxXxXxXx

"I forgot about that," Kathy said and he laughed, shaking his head.

"You're a lousy liar." He finished his cigarette, grinding it out on the ledge, tossing it down onto the city street below. "I was a mess."

"No you weren't," she protested but he shrugged.

"Still am," he said with a tired grin, looking over his shoulder at her.

She moved closer, leaning against the ledge, mimicking his stance, the way his forearms rested on the brick wall and he kept kicking at the snow with the toe of his motorcycle boots. She dangled the ends her scarf in front of her, tossing them back and forth in the wind. "Nobody's perfect, Jack."

He was watching her, she could sense it on the back of her neck and a tingling crept up from the pit of her stomach, spreading through her like a match dropped in kerosene. "Perfect is pretty boring," she continued, hoping he couldn't hear the nerves that had crept up her throat, threatening to steal her voice.

He moved closer and she turned to face him. His head was tilted and his eyes had that kind of cute, confused look he got sometimes. He grinned slightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Reaching out, he tucked her hair behind her ear. She held her breath as his finger trailed over her cheek and down her shoulder, coming to rest on top of her hand. He picked up the end of her scarf, the one with a fringe made out of a dozen different colors of yarn, the one she knew he thought was ridiculous.

His voice was deeper than ever and she felt it down to her toes when he spoke, certain the roof of her building shook with each word. "Yeah, perfect is boring as hell."

Tugging on the scarf, he pulled her closer and leaned down, closing the gap between them. Kathy closed her eyes and …


	10. Chapter 10

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _2000 Miles_ by The Pretenders

**Chapter 10**

_In these frozen and silent nights  
Sometimes in a dream you appear_

_Tugging on the scarf, he pulled her closer and leaned down, closing the gap between them. Kathy closed her eyes and … _

Jack kissed her. It was soft and gentle and it was a second before she even realized what was happening. It was like she'd tumbled down a rabbit hole and emerged on the other end in a world where nothing made sense.

_Jack Mercer._

_She was kissing Jack Mercer_.

Slowly, she sank into him and he held onto her as though he knew he was the only thing keeping her from sprawling out onto the snow in a dazed heap. He tasted like cigarettes and chocolate and she couldn't help thinking that she'd never be able to look at a cup of hot chocolate the same way again.

They pulled apart, and Kathy slowly opened her eyes to find Jack looking at her, a somewhat confused look on his face. It was hard to tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Her own thoughts were a jumble, spilling over one another, trying to sort out what had just happened.

She chewed on her swollen bottom lip and rocked back on her heels, trying to look nonchalant and not let on that she was about to faint right then and there. "What?" she asked as he kept staring at her. She was certain he was about to tell her that it was a huge mistake and he had to flee from the scene, New York City, and possibly the planet.

"Marshmallows," he simply stated. _Jeez, how could anyone make _marshmallows_ sound so … so … _

Her heart tripped and she turned, leaning against the ledge, pretending that she wasn't melting inside from that kiss. She focused on a marquee in the distance, just to have something to look at instead of staring off into space. It was advertising an art film she had gone to last week, alone, of course. It was dull and pretentious, something about a couple who grew apart and had affairs and then died in the end. It was supposed to be award worthy and meaningful, but she found herself hoping for a dashing prince to swoop in and rescue the poor, bedraggled woman from her life of misery. And a singing teapot or two wouldn't have hurt. _Always reaching for those fairy tales_, she thought. _Some things never change._

"Marshmallows?" she asked, trying to sound as calm and normal as possible. Now was not a time for her nervous rambling to get the better of her - one word sentences were the way to go at the moment.

"Yeah, marshmallows. You taste just like marshmallows." He was still holding the end of her scarf and he had it wrapped around his hand and he was busy fraying the end of a piece of purple yarn.

"Oh, um …"

"I like it," he laughed, pushing the hair out his eyes that was getting weighed down by the snowflakes. "Though I think I might be suffering from second hand sugar shock."

"Hey!" Acting on pure reflex, she swatted his arm and, still laughing, he jumped back to dodge her spastic aim. He was still gripping the scarf when his feet slipped out from under him and he crashed to the ground. The sudden tug on her neck threw Kathy off balance and she reached out, hoping to catch herself, but instead what she managed to catch were Jack's shoulders as she landed on him.

"Told ya you were going to wind up making snow angels tonight."

"You first," she grinned, trying to untangle herself from Jack without hurting him or accidentally kneeing him in a spot she'd feel really guilty about. Jack reached up and tugged on the pompom-adorned tassel hanging from her orange hat and she froze, her eyes meeting his. "Um …" she started, suddenly feeling out of breath.

"Yeah," he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he studied her. He took the tassel and brushed her cheek with it and she wrinkled her nose, a nervous bout of giggles threatening to come over her. The giggles disappeared when he reached her lips, the yarn tickling the already sensitive skin. She bit her bottom lip, holding her breath.

His mouth quirked into a crooked grin and he dropped the tassel, running his finger down the side of her face, brushing gently over her raw, reddened cheeks. Still lying on his back with her splayed on top of him, the cold snow soaking into his jeans, he cupped the back of her head and guided her down for another kiss. Kathy sighed into his lips, amazed by the warmth that flooded her. She felt him grin against her mouth and she fought another laugh.

_If this is a dream, please let me sleep forever_.

That thought was followed by another sigh and she closed her eyes again, half expecting to see stars explode behind them. No stars, but she did hear bells. Or rather …

_The Pokémon theme song?_

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack couldn't begin to explain how he was talking to Kathy one minute and kissing her the next. All that he knew was that it just felt right. As right as walking through the front door into Evelyn's house for the first time. As right as running his fingers over the strings of Evelyn's old guitar the first time she handed it to him. As right as finally becoming a part of a family after years of hoping someone out there would actually want him.

Goofy as it sounded, kissing Kathy was like coming home again.

That first kiss had been like finding the right chord and the second was like getting the melody just right. He couldn't wait to find out what the third was …

_Pokémon! Gotta catch 'em all!_

"What on earth?" Kathy blurted out at the same time that Jack groaned, "Shit."

Talk about ruining the mood. He was tempted to just ignore it, but leave it to Steve to program his ringtone with the single most annoying song he could think of – part of his evil plan to make sure Jack actually answered when he called. The constant jolts of the vibrating phone in his front pocket weren't helping matters, either.

Kathy was trying to get up and he was struggling with reaching his phone – Jack should have seen what happened next coming from a mile away. In the past, anytime the two of them were within a hundred feet of one another, someone would inevitably wind up screaming out in pain – that honor usually fell on him, but tonight they were equally lucky.

They banged heads, painfully. "Ow," she exclaimed, rubbing her forehead as she pushed herself away from him, plopping her butt into the snow next to where they'd fallen.

"Fuck," he grumbled as he ground the palm of his hand into his brow, hoping the pain would ease up and he wouldn't have a goose egg in the middle of his forehead.

Kathy was whimpering and he watched as her mouth quirked down into a frown, her nose scrunching up like a little kid's. He forgot his own pain and started laughing at hers.

"It's not funny," she mumbled.

"You gotta admit …" he started with a grin, nudging her sneaker with the toe of his boot.

"I'm not admitting anything. Plus, your butt is singing. Shouldn't you answer it?" She stuck her tongue out at him and he was about to pull her down for another kiss when the stupid phone actually seemed to get louder, which wasn't possible, but as it was, that song was already going to haunt his dreams.

Grabbing it out of his pocket, he hit talk and practically shouted into the phone. "What?"

"Whoa, Jack. Take a chill pill, dude." Jack rolled his eyes. Steve – once a dork, always a dork.

"This better be important, because as it is, you have the worst timing in the world, man." He swore he could hear Steve raise his eyebrows on the other end and Jack knew what the long pause meant. "Not what you're thinking," he answered the question before it could be asked.

"I didn't say anything."

"Whatever, man."

Jack was barely listening as Steve rattled on about a club or bar or something he was hanging out in. He was shouting over the music and people in the background and it was hard to make out what he was saying so it was easier just to ignore him. Plus, he was too busy watching Kathy as she straightened out her hat, positioning the pompom to the right side of her head, making sure it was right where she wanted. She gave a self-satisfied smirk when she was through and Jack grinned, wondering how this quirky girl had worked her way into his life in the span of just a few hours.

"So how about it?" Steve yelled on the other end, pulling Jack back into the conversation.

"Um … sure," he said, not sure what he'd agreed to.

"See you in about half an hour then?"

"Huh?" _Shit_, he thought, what _was Steve talking about?_

"You really should get that ADD checked out."

"Shut up." He laid his head back against the cold roof, letting the snow drift down on his face. The sky looked so black from where they were, pitch black against the white of the snow.

"Okay. The bar is on …" he started to rattle off the address but Jack interrupted him.

"I just need to get back to your place and grab my stuff and then go. I got a train to catch." It was getting late – a lot later than he realized. Of course in New York, late was early and it wasn't truly time to call it a night until you saw the first signs of the sunrise over the Hudson.

"Dude, just for an hour. Plus, you gotta get the keys if you want to get into the apartment."

Jack sighed as he sat up. "I have the keys."

"No you don't," Steve stated matter-of-factly.

Rubbing his temples as a tension headache threatened to explode, Jack tried to stay calm. "Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

Jack shoved his hand in his jacket pocket, the pocket he stuffed the spare set of keys to Steve's apartment when he left that night for his gig at the coffee house. "Of course," he muttered just as he heard Steve rattling something on the other end of the phone. The keys.

"ADD, man. I'm shocked you remembered to take your guitar with you when you left."

"Fuck you, Steve," Jack said, his attention more on Kathy than on the conversation. He had noticed her watching him, the look on her face told him all he needed to know – she didn't want him to leave. Part of him wanted to stay. "Your apartment is shit," he argued with his friend. "I can just kick the fucking door down if I wanted to."

Kathy laughed and Jack scooted over next to her. Leaning against him, she put her head on his shoulder and he smiled. His whole backside had gone numb from the snow and they really should get up and go inside before they both got frostbite, but it felt like leaving the roof would break whatever spell had fallen over them.

"Come on, Jack," Steve begged.

"Whatever. If you see me you see me, and if you don't, there'll be ten dollars on top of your TV to buy a new lock." He turned the phone off before Steve could argue.

"You're leaving," Kathy stated simply.

"Yeah," he sighed.

Life had a way of doing that – reminding you that you had to get back to it eventually.

XxXxXxXxXx

"So is it true?" Steve came running up to Jack as he tried to open his locker for the third time that morning. He knew the combination, but the damn lock wasn't cooperating. He had to be in homeroom in three minutes and at this rate he was going to get another detention for being late.

"Is what true," he mumbled around the pen he had sticking out of his mouth.

"You and Kathy?"

Jack narrowed his eyes. "Me and Kathy what?"

Steve nudged his shoulder and winked at him. "Come on, dude, you know what I mean."

"No, _dude_, I don't." Jack was starting to get annoyed and he glared at the lock, like he could will it to open with his mind. It was Monday and as far as days of the week went, Monday ranked at the bottom, followed closely by Thursday but that was mainly because Evelyn was still making him go see that therapist who smelled like mothballs.

A couple of kids walked by him, girls who were in his English class and he caught them staring at him and whispering. They looked away and giggled when they noticed he was looking.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked and Steve shrugged. The warning bell rang and Jack knew he was doomed to spend another hour after school with Mr. Rebar. The guy was annoying as hell - he hummed while he graded papers and that made it impossible to concentrate on getting any work done. Not that Jack ever really tried to get any work done. Usually he spent detention doodling his band name in a notebook or jotting down song lyrics; but listening to his homeroom teacher hum _Copacabana_ for an hour killed his creativity.

"Jack." He heard Kathy before he saw her. She was pushing her way through the crowd, practically out of breath when she reached him. Her glasses were crooked and she looked frazzled and worried. "I think Matt is telling people that -" she started, but got cut off by a chorus of kissing sounds coming from a group of guys by the water fountain.

A block of ice formed in Jack's gut – he knew what was going on. It had been a couple of days since the fire drill and the closet and his freak out in the dark. That gave Matt the whole weekend to spread rumors, and like any good gossip, they spread fast. He wouldn't be surprised if the whole school had him and Kathy married by second period.

He finally got his locker open and he started rifling through his paper and books to find the ones he needed for his morning classes. "It's nothing, Kathy." He tried to sound confident. A couple more giggles came from behind them and he tightened his grip on his backpack. "Nothing."

"Woof. Woof. There's the mutt and his bitch!" Jack's slammed his locker and turned around slowly. Wilcox was standing there, flanked by two of his buddies, his typical jackass sneer in place. "Fido, I didn't know you were such a slut."

Kathy gasped and Jack saw red. The final bell rang and the halls were clear. Steve was backing up slowly, trying to leave, but not quite sure if he should. "Jack, it's not worth it," he said under his breath.

"Yeah, Jack – listen to the Dungeon Master; it's not worth it." Matt cackled and his friends laughed along with him.

Kathy reached out and grabbed his arm. "Jack, let's just go to homeroom." But Jack just stood there, staring straight ahead, taking deep, steady breaths. His fists clenched and he flashed to the closet and how close he'd come to breaking and the fact that Wilcox had caused that.

Matt stopped laughing and pushed off from the wall he was leaning on, taking a step toward Jack and his friends. "You gonna run away?" Jack shook his head and Matt started slowly circling them. "I heard you were crazy – fucked up in the head from being an orphan or some shit like that. Is that true? Did you try to off yourself?"

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack had an ice pack on his knuckles, Steve was holding one on his eye, and Kathy kept rubbing the bruise that was forming on her arm from when one of Wilcox's thugs pushed her into a locker. Jack had at least some small measure of satisfaction that Matt and his friends were in worse shape than they were. The nurse was sending Matt to the hospital for stitches; unfortunately, they were for the gash above his eye and not for his mouth.

Principal Clark stared down at the trio from his large desk, his brow furrowed as he studied them. The clock on the wall was loudly ticking down the seconds - Jack had counted 340 of them since the secretary led them into the office and told them to have a seat. Twenty more passed before Clark cleared his throat. Steve let out a strangled cry and Jack bit back a grin. This was new for Steve – staring down the principal – and he was practically shitting his pants.

"As I'm sure you are all well aware," Clark spoke gravely, "there is a zero tolerance policy for fighting in this school."

All three of them nodded in unison.

"Because of that, I'm afraid -"

"Please don't expel me," Steve interrupted in a rush, wringing his hands in his lap.

Clark shook his head and sighed. "Son, I'm not expelling you."

"Oh, thank God." Steve sank back into his chair.

"But there will be consequences."

_Great_, Jack thought, _just great …_

XxXxXxXxXx

Kathy kept her head on Jack's shoulder and he picked up the end of her scarf again - something about all those colors blending together reminded him of her. From a distance, she was just awkward and shy and a bit of a klutz. Up close, she was still a klutz, but then you realized she was also funny and smart and different and warm and …

He shook his head to clear it. The whole night was doing something funny to his brain. Maybe that waitress at the coffee shop spiked his drink or something.

"You could, um … stay," she said and he could tell she was just as unsure as he was of what was going on between them.

"Or you could come with me."

"I can't go to Detroit." She lifted her head and looked him in the eye. "I told you that already."

"Fine, no Detroit. But how about the bar? It's not far."

She started chewing on her bottom lip and fidgeting with the zipper on her coat – two sure signs she was thinking.

"You can see Steve …" He couldn't believe he was using Steve as a bargaining chip in anything vaguely resembling his love life. She wrinkled her nose and he laughed. "Or not … it's up to you," he added.

She blew out a puff of air and stood up, swiping at the snow coating the back of her legs. "Okay, I'll go."

"Really?"

"Really."

She started gathering up their blankets while he pulled himself to his feet, trying not to put too much weight on his bad leg. Kathy glanced at him and stopped what she was doing, smiling slightly, though it was a smile that seemed a little sad, maybe a bit wistful. "I missed you," she said quietly and he knew what she meant.

"Yeah, I missed you, too."

* * *

_O_

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A/N - This chapter turned out completely differently from what I had planned. Jack and Kathy were not supposed to kiss, but Jack is far too stubborn, lol. Thank you for all the reviews on the last chapter and for putting up with my cliffhanger (sorry, they are too much fun to avoid). Thanks to Elle, Remy, Annemiek, and Niki for reading over this and helping me sort some things out (and swooning where swooning was appropriate, lol). _


	11. Chapter 11

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _We Meet Again _by Nancy Wilson

**Chapter 11**

_I know the language of your laugh  
Tripping over circumstance_

"Jack, do I have to give them my bra in order to get a drink here?" Kathy asked, glancing around the crowded, dark bar. It was packed with people and she had a feeling she was the only person not wearing black, certainly the only one in a fuzzy pink sweater.

Jack laughed, shifting his guitar case from one hand to the other so that he could grab onto hers, lacing their fingers together. She liked the way he lazily ran his thumb over her knuckles. "Relax, I got it," he said.

"You're going to give them your bra?" she asked dryly, eyeing the array of lacy lingerie tacked up behind the bar.

He looked down at her, a mixture of amusement and confusion on his face and it was beat or two before he grinned. "Yeah, that's the plan." He squeezed her hand and leaned down. "So what'll it be?"

"A Cosmo?"

"Kath, if I order a Cosmo, they will definitely ask for my bra."

She shrugged, suddenly feeling very out of place. "I have no idea. I'm not much of a drinker."

"Place like this, it's whiskey or beer. Or maybe tequila, but we should start you off slow. Don't wanna to go too crazy."

"Crazy for me is a regular instead of diet." She did her share of drinking her freshman year, enjoying her freedom and testing her limits. It didn't take her long to realize her limits didn't reach much further than a couple glasses of wine or a fruity margarita that took two hours to finish. Jack, on the other hand, started drinking in high school like all the other cool kids, partying it up while she stayed behind to do her homework and watch the Disney channel.

Jack tugged gently on her hand, pulling her toward the bar. The bartender barked something over the loud din of people talking and the band playing and Jack barked something back, but she couldn't make it out. Money exchanged hands and he turned around with two shot glasses filled to the brim with an amber liquid that was dark and thick and probably whiskey.

"We'll start slightly crazy and then ease back into boring," he said, his grin lopsided as he carefully handed the glass over to her.

She gave the glass a dubious look and took a sip, wincing slightly as the alcohol burned her throat. He groaned and she looked up. "What?"

"You aren't gonna stand here and sip that," he stated simply, downing his in one quick gulp, reaching back to place the empty glass on the bar.

"Trying to get me drunk?" she asked as they found a clearing in the sea of people to stand without being stepped on.

"Maybe." He was leaning against the wall in the corner they crammed themselves into, his shoulders slouched slightly, like he was trying not to be so tall. His hair was flattened a bit from the snow and his clothes were all rumbled and damp, first from the tea she dumped on him and then from the … whatever you would call what happened on the roof. Part of her was still convinced she had imagined the whole thing. He looked tired and slightly worn out and kind of a mess and she thought she'd never seen anyone more loveable in her life.

"Trust me," she sighed, "drunk Kathy is just as dull as sober Kathy."

He narrowed his eyes, a flash of anger hardening his gaze for a second. "Who said sober Kathy was dull?"

"You want a list?"

Jack started to answer, but he didn't get a chance. A guy came out of nowhere and pushed into his shoulder, knocking him slightly off balance. He winced as he caught himself, probably straining his already swollen knee.

"Jack, I can't believe you actually showed up," the guy laughed as Jack glared at him. "Seriously, man, you're becoming a hermit in your old age."

"Hey, Steve," Jack mumbled as he shifted his weight to his good leg and stuffed his hands in his jean pockets.

"It's so awesome you came."

Kathy grinned. Steve may look different – he was taller, thinner and much better looking than she remembered, but she could see that not much had really changed. Still a bit nerdy looking, but in a more eccentric way than when they were growing up. He had a plaid shirt unbuttoned over a vintage Pac-Man t-shirt that was probably authentic and not manufactured by some trendy teen store. His jeans were pressed and his hair was neat, but not too neat. He looked like he'd be equally at home at a club or behind a computer. It somehow made her have faith in the world that he and Jack were still friends.

"So you pulled yourself away from your latest 'not what you're thinking, Steve'," he said, using air quotes, "to come out and have a good time?" Steve nudged Jack's shoulder and winked at him. "I told you that the coffee house gig was going to be worth it. You can't leave New York without getting laid at least --"

Jack cleared his throat loudly, stopping Steve in mid-sentence. He nodded, indicating Kathy, who was standing silently next to him, apparently undetected by the newest addition to their group. Steve looked over at her and gulped. "Oh, hey," he said awkwardly.

"Hi," she said, still holding the full glass of whiskey and pretty sure her cheeks were the same color as her sweater; they felt like they were on fire.

Steve looked away from her but then did a quick double take that was so exaggerated that it should have been accompanied by a cartoon sound effect. "Kathy?" he asked, his mouth hanging open.

She started to nod, but was enveloped in a big hug before she knew what was happening. Her drink smashed into Steve's chest, spilling down the front of his shirt, but he didn't seem to notice. He smelled like Twizzlers and Doritos and Kathy added that to her list of things that would never change.

"Wow, Kathy. It's great to see you," Steve said as he pulled back from the hug.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure she figured that out," Jack observed dryly. He reached out and took Kathy's hand, pulling her next to him.

"Jealous?" Steve asked, snorting a laugh, but he stopped when his gaze zeroed in on their joined hands. "Wait a sec …"

"Not what you're thinking, man," Jack said steadily. "And you owe Kathy a drink."

"Huh?"

"You're wearin' the one I bought her." Steve looked down at his shirt, finally noticing the dark stain spreading across Pac-Man. "Don't worry," Jack continued, "that's how she says hello."

"Hey!" Kathy protested.

"Like I'm lying?"

She opened and closed her mouth, fishing for a comeback. She gave up. "Fine," she grumbled and he laughed, giving her a quick kiss on the top of her head.

"That's my girl."

Steve just kept looking back and forth between them. "Sure. Not what I'm thinking. Right."

XxXxXxXxXx

Kathy excused herself to use the restroom and judging by the line snaking out the door, she was going to be gone for a while. Steve kept grinning at him and he'd finally had enough. "What?" he practically shouted.

Steve shrugged. "Nothing."

"Well, if it's nothing, then stop staring at me; you're creeping me out." Jack sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He glanced back at the line Kathy was standing in and he watched with amusement as she talked to the chick in front of her who had her purple hair spiked out in an old school mohawk, with a chain running from her nose to her ear that shook as she nodded along to whatever it was Kathy was rambling on about.

"I can't believe it. You and Kathy. Dude, it's so perfect, I don't know why I didn't think of it before," Steve said.

"There is no me and Kathy." He didn't know it was a lie until he said it.

"Then stop looking at her."

"I'm not looking at …" Jack's voice trailed off. Kathy had just swung her arm out, gesturing while talking, and she knocked the arm of a guy passing by, spilling some of his draft beer onto his leather jacket. Jack grinned as she perfectly mimed being sorry and the guy left with half a beer and a dripping arm.

"As I was saying," Steve said.

Jack turned and looked at his friend, who was rocking back and forth to the awful Springsteen cover band currently playing on stage. "Whatever, man," he mumbled, taking a swig from his beer bottle. "There's nothing between us and besides, I'm going home in a few hours."

"You're very convincing."

"And you're an asshole."

The band was on their encore when Kathy finally made it back from the bathroom. "Did I miss anything?" she asked and Steve coughed.

"No. Steve here was just about to tell us why he dragged us out here in the snow to listen to some guy murder _Thunder Road_. Right, Steve?" Jack clamped his hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezed none too gently.

"Um …" Steve started, looking suspiciously guilty. Before he had a chance to respond, the house lights dimmed, signaling that the next band was about to start. Jack's head already ached in anticipation of the crap they were going to be subjected to next, if the opening act was any indication.

If he'd been paying closer attention he might have realized it sooner. Someone was on stage announcing the surprise guest with the hit song and it still didn't click. It wasn't until those first few opening notes and those familiar lyrics that he'd written and rewritten countless times that it hit him. His grip tightened on Steve's shoulder. "You're dead."

"Dude …" Steve started as he shoved Jack's hand away.

Kathy looked back and forth between the two of them, a perplexed look on her face. "What's going on?" she asked, turning her attention to the stage, standing on her tiptoes to see over the heads of the people crowding in front of them.

"The Spares," Jack said flatly.

"You have to stop avoiding them," Steve argued.

"Like hell I do." Jack paused, taking a deep breath. "And I'm not avoiding them."

"Yes you are," Steve countered, looking over at Kathy like she could somehow back him up on it even though she clearly had no idea what was going on.

She did that concerned head tilt thing that Jack dreaded because he knew that whatever was going to follow was going to be heartfelt and concerned and if he said anything remotely negative he was going to sound like the world's biggest jackass. "Jack?"

Chicks had a way of doing that – packing a punch with one simple word. He sighed, peeling the label off his beer. Shrugging, he said, "Nothing's going on."

"He's been in New York for a month and hasn't seen the guys once." Steve looked at Jack.

"Whatever, man. Doesn't mean anything."

"Wait," Kathy interrupted, pointing at Steve. "If they're on stage, how come you're out here? Aren't you the lead singer?"

Jack laughed. "_Was_ the lead singer."

"They replaced me senior year," Steve explained, ignoring Jack's laugh. "They didn't need the garage any more. It all worked out - I'm their manager now."

"Until they find a better one, which they will." Jack shook his head, feeling a mixture of guilt and annoyance. He'd been the one pushing to replace Steve back when they were almost out of high school and moving to New York seemed like more than just a pipe dream concocted over a few too many beers and a joint or two.

Steve had been pissed at first and Jack was positive he'd lost his best friend, but at the time he didn't care. Shit, he'd pretty much lost _himself _by that point in his life, a fact he wasn't particularly proud of.

Despite the lousy way the situation was handled, the truth was Steve made a far better band manager than a lead singer anyway, so the decision wasn't a bad one. But now that he'd been kicked out of the band in favor of a chick in a short skirt, Jack knew just how raw that feeling of rejection was. It was shitty and it was a hard one to put behind you. Fuck being an adult, he liked holding a grudge.

"It wouldn't matter if you would just let me manage your career," Steve pointed out for the hundredth time. It was his new goal in life – making Jack into some sort of indie rock singer/songwriter superstar. Jack tried to tell him that he was fine where he was, that he didn't know what he wanted to do with his career and no amount of pushing or repeating the same damn plan over and over again was going to change that.

"Man, just go to school and get your nerdy degree in computer graphics or some shit like that and go make those damn video games you're always talking about." Jack pushed away from the wall he was leaning on and loped over to the bar. "Stop pinning your hopes on me, I'm not worth it."

Kathy stepped up next to him, her arm brushing his. She was leaning against the bar, like she was going to order something. "Snow angels," she said cryptically and for a second Jack thought he misheard her over the noise coming from the stage. Trevor fucked with the arrangement and even embroiled in yet another conversation over his career, Jack couldn't help noticing just how bad the song sounded.

"What?" he said, leaning closer so he could hear her.

"Snow angels. You said I was afraid to make them – well, I think you are, too."

"You think I'm afraid to make snow angels?"

"Well, metaphorical snow angels." She winked at him and he fought a grin.

"Uh …" Steve said from behind them, looking more confused than Jack had ever seen him look in his life, which was really saying something. "What the hell are you guys talking about?"

XxXxXxXxXx

"Psst," Jack whispered at her, but she ignored him. It was bad enough they were stuck in in-school suspension, but she didn't want to make it worse. They were supposed to be working quietly – no talking, no nothing for seven long hours. Her backside was numb from sitting still for so long, and the day wasn't even close to being over.

She couldn't believe it when the principal told them – one whole week for getting into a fight. Because of the school's policy, everyone involved suffered the same fate, which meant that she and Steve were stuck staring at the clock right alongside Jack and Matt. Her nemesis was in the back corner, far away from the rest of them, but she could hear him breathing through his busted nose. _Wheeze. Wheeze. Wheeze._ It was like a metronome, ticking out the beat of their boredom.

Mr. Rebar stood up at his desk and stretched. "I'll be right back. You kids behave. No talking," he said, pointing right at Steve who gulped loudly and blanched a bit. He was taking the whole suspension thing even worse than Kathy was.

As soon as the door closed, Jack was out of his desk and kneeling next to hers. "Jack," she started, glancing nervously at the door. "You're going to get us in trouble."

"Relax, Rebar's smoke breaks take approximately fifteen minutes and I'm convinced the guy also makes a pit stop at the teachers' lounge to catch up on _All My Children_."

Kathy narrowed her eyes. "Just how many times have you been suspended?"

Jack shrugged and picked up her pencil and started doodling on the rough draft of the essay she was working on. A guitar quickly took shape and it wasn't half bad. "Just this year or my whole lifetime?" he asked. "If it's lifetime, I might have to average it out and … well, you know how good I am at math."

He started tapping the pencil on the desk. "Anyway. I just … um … wanted to say I was sorry for getting you in trouble."

His voice was soft and he was looking down, his shoulders slumped like a world of guilt was pressing down on them. She ducked her head next to his so that the other guys in the room couldn't hear her. "It's okay," she whispered. "And it's not your fault - Matt started it."

"Yeah, but I could have stopped it. I just really wanted to punch the guy." He looked up, pushing his shaggy hair out of his eyes.

Kathy grinned. "So did I."

XxXxXxXxXx

Kathy chewed on her bottom lip as Steve's house came into view. The garage was open and the disjointed sounds of a vaguely familiar song came blaring out of the cramped space; that could mean only one thing – band practice. She twisted Chaucer's leash in her hands, part of her wanting to run up that driveway and the other part of her wanting to cross the street to the other side, avoiding temptation all together.

Tears pricked at her eyes and she felt like screaming at her mother, at the world, at anyone and everyone who crossed her path. It wasn't fair. Her mother was overreacting but no amount of pleading on her part was going to change her mind.

"I hate you," she'd yelled at the top of her lungs after her mother had passed down her ultimatum, treating her more like a defendant she was cross-examining than like her own daughter. The words had hung between them like a gauntlet that had been thrown. Part of her wanted to take them back, surely she couldn't mean them, but another part of her felt liberated for finally having the guts to stand up for herself. Not that it did any good.

She hurried past the end of the driveway, thankful for the first time for the persistence with which Chaucer tugged on his leash, practically dragging her down the street.

"Kathy," Jack called after her and she knew she hadn't escaped.

Turning slowly, she kept her head down, hoping he couldn't tell just how close to tears she really was.

"Hey," he said as he caught up to her, slightly out of breath. "Thought you were coming to practice today."

She shrugged, still looking at the ground, studying the withered weeds that had pushed through the cracked sidewalk. She brushed the toe of her sneaker over them, trying to dig them up, but they held fast, their roots deep beneath the cement.

She could tell Jack was looking at her, probably confused. She finally looked up and she heard the breath hitch in his chest. Apparently, she'd failed at stopping the tears. Somehow, that thought made them swell up more and spill down her cheeks. She brushed at them with the sleeve of her jacket, her smile wobbly.

"What … what's wrong?" Jack asked and she knew crying scared him and made him get all twitchy and nervous.

"Nothing," she said and he laughed lightly.

"You're a terrible liar."

"Tell me about it." She took in a shuddering gulp and figured she should just get it over with, like pulling a band-aid off a cut. "My mom."

"I'm shocked," he said dryly, but she could see by the set of his shoulders, by then tension running through them, that her mother upset him. She wasn't sure exactly what happened to him growing up, but she knew that people who were supposed to care for him had hurt him terribly. She'd told him that it wasn't like that at her house, but she always wondered if a part of him didn't believe her.

Taking a deep breath, she continued, the words coming out slowly, painfully. "She said I can't be friends with you anymore."

"That's bullshit," Jack said angrily.

She chewed on her bottom lip, her nose stuffing up and her vision growing blurry. "I know. But … but she'll know. She's going to check on me and …"

"And what?"

"I don't know. I just … she was so mad about the fighting and the suspension and I just … I don't know what to do, Jack."

She must have sounded miserable because she could see him struggling, like he wanted to hit something, but instead his shoulders slouched and he reached out, taking the leash from her hands. "Come on." He nodded back toward Steve's and the band. "Come listen to us play. Just one song."

Kathy grabbed the leash, but he held fast, like they were in a tug-of-war. "I have to go, Jack."

His grip tightened. "No, you don't."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, pulling firmly and he finally let go.

"I'll see you at school," she said as she watched him walk back to his friend's house. She watched until he disappeared into the garage and it felt like a door slamming on her life. Chaucer yanked on his leash and she reluctantly walked away, leaving behind the garage and Jack, wishing that for once in her life she had the guts to do the wrong thing.

XxXxXxXxXx

"Jack, trust me, there's nothing worse than looking back on your life and realizing you should have taken a chance, but you didn't." She couldn't help thinking just how different things could have turned out had she marched up that driveway with Jack instead of listening to her mother.

Jack leaned forward, his elbow on the bar, his gaze locked with hers. "You have no regrets?"

She rolled her eyes. "Thousands."

He laughed. "Right."

"Okay, maybe a few dozen. My point is, you don't want to be an old man, looking back on your life and seeing this moment right here as the one where you decided to take the easy way out."

He nudged her shoulder with his beer bottle. "You really should reconsider that drink, I think you could use one."

"She's right, man," Steve interjected and Jack sighed, looking at the ceiling for divine intervention, or an escape route. His friend hooked his thumb over his shoulder. "Listen to them."

"Your point?" Jack asked. Kathy strained to hear the band over the noise of the bar. All she could hear was a mess of screaming and instruments – just a wall of noise and not much else. They certainly didn't sound like the band she knew growing up.

"My point is, they're up there and you're down here and they sound like shit. Something is missing and we both know it's you." Steve continued his argument and Kathy could tell it was one Jack had probably heard dozens of times. "You're the real thing, dude. It's been a year, you have to let it go and move on with your life. You've earned it, Jack. Kathy, please tell him I'm right."

Kathy studied Jack for a minute. He was putting up a good front – anyone who didn't know him would just see a tough, edgy guy in torn jeans and a leather jacket. But he wasn't fooling her. He looked lost, like he needed a lifeline to hold onto, someone to believe in him. Smiling softly, she took his hand in hers and simply said, "He knows."


	12. Chapter 12

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _I Hope That I Don't Fall In Love With You_ by Tom Waits

**Chapter 12**

_Now it's closing time, the music's fading out_

"He lives! The prodigal guitarist returns."

Jack forced a smile as he stepped into the cramped office that doubled as a green room in the back of the bar. His old bandmates were lounging on a threadbare couch that was the color of split pea soup after it was left in a bowl in the sink for two months.

Brad was still on drums like he'd been since day one, Mark had taken over as lead singer when they ditched Steve, and Trevor was still the keyboardist and still a controlling asshole, something Jack should have figured out much sooner than he did. One was missing - Ash, the chick who took over lead guitar after Jack was shot, was MIA and probably hooking up with a random guy in a dark corner somewhere.

Brad was the one who made the announcement when Jack walked through the door, leaping up to give his old friend a hug. "Been way too long, Jack," he said, patting him roughly on the back.

"Yeah," Jack said, suddenly wishing he was anywhere but there at that moment. It wasn't _anxiety attack in the bathroom_ bad, but he definitely could use a cigarette and a drink at that moment.

"When we heard what happened …" Brad took a deep breath, his eyes sort of glassy and Jack took an involuntary step back, a little afraid that the guy was going to start crying on him. Brad had been his friend almost as long as Steve. They met in gym class, hanging back and avoiding as much actual gym as they could, plotting their escape so they could grab a smoke before the period was over. The fact that Brad had a drum set helped them seal their friendship. The drums had been a gift from his absentee dad, who probably intended more for the drumming to annoy the hell out of his ex-wife than for his son to actually learn how to play them.

"Would have been nice if Bobby had thought to call sooner than two weeks after it happened. We thought you'd made a wrong turn and wound up in Mexico or something crazy shit like that," Steve said as he took a seat on the coffee table in the center of the room, pushing an empty pizza box out of the way.

Jack wanted to point out that they had all grown up in Detroit and it wasn't like they couldn't have picked up a phone and called the house – the number hadn't changed. His brothers had been distracted at the time and his friends … part of him was convinced they had forgotten he existed. That wasn't entirely true, Jack supposed. Steve had visited him in the hospital, keeping him company and bugging the hell out of Bobby. The other guys sent him a card and a strip-o-gram a week after he'd come out of the coma, but that was it.

"Whatever. It's over, man. I'm fine. Water under the bridge and all that shit." The words sounded lame to his ears, but everyone seemed to accept them. Well, everyone except Steve, who mouthed the word "Liar" at him. Jack rolled his eyes and discretely flipped him off as he ran his hand through his damp hair.

"You're going to get a cut of each song you wrote, Jack. I promise you that," Trevor announced in that _cut through the crap and get to the point_ way he had, which was why he got laid way less than any of the rest of them but managed to have a well paying day job and a nice apartment. The dude wasn't an idiot, just a complete jackass. And he wouldn't know a decent arrangement if it bit him on the ass. Jack was still smarting over the way they'd butchered the songs he'd worked on perfecting for years.

Jack just nodded. Money didn't matter to him, but Trevor saw everything in green and white. It was probably how the band had lasted long enough to actually have a record deal and shot at something big. Hell, using Jack's injuries as an excuse and filling his spot with Ash proved he wasn't stupid and Jack wondered just how long the guy had been plotting to kick him out of his own band. Probably that first day he walked into Steve's garage.

Someone nudged his elbow and he looked behind him. Kathy. He'd forgotten she was there and immediately felt guilty. But finally confronting what he'd always assumed was going to be his future had fogged up his brain and the side effect was forgetting things like the girl who had unexpectedly fallen back into his life.

"Hey, guys – you remember Kathy?"

She stepped into the room and waved, half smiling, half grimacing and looking as awkward as hell. Well, that was definitely something they had in common.

Everyone stared at her and Jack could tell they were trying to process where they knew her from. It was one of the hazards of being a rock star – cycling through all the women clogging your memory, trying to remember if you'd ever known her in the more biblical sense or if your relationship was strictly platonic and fully clothed. Jack had never been very good at pretending when he had no clue who some chicks were. They usually laughed it off, but he did know what a good, angry slap across the cheek felt like.

Brad jumped up and pointed. "George's clarinet!"

Steve groaned dramatically and shook his head. "Don't remind me about that damn clarinet."

"It was your idea for him to be in the band," Jack pointed out.

"Don't pin that on me, Mercer. My mom made me."

Jack laughed suddenly, the tension in his chest easing up. "Oh, well, that's better then."

Kathy glanced around the room. "Where is George?"

"Still chasing your dog and his wind instrument," Brad said with a shrug.

Steve looked over his shoulder and glared at the drummer. "He's in MIT, studying something …"

"Mathematical," Jack finished for him.

Everyone but Trevor laughed. He was too busy studying Kathy, his eyes narrowed. "Kathy Price," he said suddenly, like he'd solved the riddle.

She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear, her face flushed from laughing.

"Wow. Can't believe you'd give Jack here the time of day. Especially after what happened at the prom."

She drew in a deep breath and it was like a door had been suddenly slammed shut. The room got very quiet, waiting for the next shoe to drop.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Jack growled at Trevor, but his eyes were on Kathy. She was pale and looked shaky and he couldn't for the life of him figure out what was going on.

Prom was four years ago, not that he remembered much of anything from that night. What the hell could have happened four years ago … "Shit," he said under his breath.

He reached for Kathy's arm, but she dodged his grasp, rushing out the door.

XxXxXxXxXx

Kathy stared at herself in the mirror. She couldn't decide if she should be happy or nervous, or a mixture of both. All she felt was oddly detached.

A stranger was staring back at her – one with a pretty dress on, shiny hair, and perfect makeup. For once her mother was interested in her life and this was the result. After her parent's divorce, things had gotten worse. Her mother kept trying to mold her into something she wasn't. She didn't care about clothes and hair and parties. She loved books and writing and hanging out with her friends while they talked about college and working on the school newspaper. She was never going to be what her mother wanted.

Scrunching up her nose, she put her glasses on out of spite. Her mother tried to convince her she could do without them, but she didn't feel like spending the next four or five hours half blind and squinting.

Prom was every girl's dream, right? Then why did she wish she was going to a movie or staying at home with a book instead?

She heard a car pull up outside and she groaned. That would be James. Right on time. He was the son of a friend of her mother's and he'd agreed to go with her. She'd wanted to go with her friend Chris who worked on the paper with her, but her mom shot that down, of course. Luckily Kathy hadn't asked him yet or things would have been really awkward.

She heard her mother answer the door and glanced at her window, wondering if she could escape. Jack Mercer had snuck into her room once through that window, climbing up the tree. Thinking of Jack made her heart twist and she took a deep breath. He'd been her friend once, just for a few months, and she still missed him, even all these years later. She saw him in the halls every once in a while, on those days he actually showed up for school, and he seemed different and for some reason that made her incredibly sad.

"Kathy," her mom called up the stairs and she closed her eyes, counting to ten. Weren't you supposed to keep a boy waiting for stuff like this? She was tempted to keep him waiting all night while she made a mad dash for Canada; but she grabbed her clutch and cardigan instead, shutting the door to her room as she made her way down the stairs.

XxXxXxXxXx

The hip hop music and strobe lights were giving her a headache. Sighing, she ran her spoon through the melted ice cream in her bowl, smearing it with the strawberries that she hadn't eaten. She was alone at the table, everyone else was out dancing.

Her date was off with some girl. They'd danced together the last three dances, clutched together like every song had been slow and dreamy, not fast and loud and pounding. Kathy had a feeling she was going to have to find a ride home. She didn't dare call her mother. Failing at the prom was the worst thing she could ever do and she didn't want to give her mother any more reasons to be disappointed in her.

Tugging on her dress for the hundredth time, she cursed the strapless blue nightmare that kept slipping down. She had her sweater on earlier, but James rolled his eyes at it and made her feel like such a loser.

The song changed to something slower and she dropped her fork. Maybe she could attempt at least one dance, give this whole prom thing a shot and not waste the whole evening feeling sorry for herself. She stood and scanned the crowd, looking for James and the girl with the crimped blonde hair who was hanging all over him. He owed her at least one dance. Scanning the crowded dance floor, she spotted them – lips locked, hands roaming, practically doing it on the dance floor. Her face grew hot and she knew she must have turned bright red, which clashed nicely with the blue dress her mother picked out for her.

She didn't belong there. She felt like a wall was up between her and the rest of the room, like she was an observer, looking in from the outside. She was standing there in her school gym in a stupid, fake costume of normalcy while the world ignored her and passed her by. She might as well have a bag over her head for all the good it did her.

Turning on her heel, she headed for the exit, hoping some fresh air would clear the awful, gnawing, uncomfortable sickness that was swelling up in her stomach.

A smattering of people were in the school parking lot, leaning on cars, some smoking, some making out, and some just talking. She pulled on her sweater, suddenly chilled in the spring night air. She had to figure out what to do for a ride home and it was looking more and more like she was going to have to swallow her pride and call her mother.

"Woof woof." Her heart sank as Matt Wilcox rounded the corner with his friends, his acne scarred face making her clench her fists. "What's the matter, Fido, couldn't find a pity date?"

She looked at the ground, willing for him to disappear, but it didn't work. Suddenly, he was right next to her, his hot breath on the back of her neck, making her skin crawl.

"Where's your date, Wilcox? Or was that the girl we saw puking her guts out in the bushes?" a deep voice slurred from a few feet away.

She looked up and saw him. Jack. He was leaning against the old clunker he drove to school, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, a liquor bottle loosely hanging from his fingertips. He took a swig and smiled. He was dressed for prom, but in an obvious, "I don't care about this stuff" way. He had his leather jacket thrown on over a tacky ruffled blue tuxedo shirt and his bowtie was undone and hanging around his neck. His black Chucks were old and holey and at odds with the pressed black pants he wore. A tacky brunette with huge bangs and a tiny dress was sitting on the ground next to him, leaning against the car like it was the only thing keeping her from passing out across the pavement.

The door to Jack's car opened and a couple of guys got out with their dates. His friends, Steve and Trevor. Trevor was the one who spoke. "Problem, Jack?"

"Nah. Just the usual shit. Wilcox still hasn't figured out that he's a worthless fuck who needs to keep his mouth shut."

Matt stepped away from her and headed for Jack. "Fuck you, Mercer. You don't seem to have a problem with me when I'm supplying your wasted ass with dope."

"Even the village idiot has some value," Jack said with a shrug, his words tripping over one another and he was obviously drunk or stoned or both. He took another long sip from the bottle and tears started to blur Kathy's vision. This wasn't Jack. She had no idea what happened to make him like this, but this wasn't her Jack.

"Dude, let's just go inside." Steve was next to him, tugging on his arm, but Jack shrugged him off.

Wilcox laughed. "Let him fight me. It'll be fun – over in seconds, if he can even stand up long enough to throw a punch. Let him defend Fido's honor."

Steve looked at her, his eyes pleading. "Kathy, maybe you should go back inside."

She wanted nothing more than to go back inside, but her feet were cemented to the spot and she couldn't move.

"Are you kidding? She won't go; this is like fucking Romeo and Juliet. Detroit's most pathetic star crossed lovers." Matt snorted, the sound brutal and gross. "Admit it, Mercer – you guys are made for each other."

"Shut up," Jack said, taking a step forward, more steady on his feet that Kathy thought he would be.

Matt reached out and grabbed the hem of her sweater. She snatched it away from him. "I bet you dream about her at night. She's always had a thing for you, you know."

"That was a long time ago and it doesn't mean shit."

Kathy swallowed a sob and Matt looked at her, his beady little eyes locking with hers. "I bet it means a lot to her. Ain't that right, Fido?"

"Stop it," she said under her breath and he winked at her, grabbing her arm. He pulled her toward Jack and shoved her at him.

Jack barely caught her, and she clutched his jacket, trying to regain her balance in her high heels. He smelled like alcohol and a cigarettes and something she'd smelled once or twice before in the girls' bathroom.

"I'm sorry," she whispered and he glanced at her, his eyes glassy and red and oddly vacant.

"Beast and the Beast. I was going to say Beauty, but Jack … you've kind of let yourself go." Wilcox laughed again, his friends crowding in around him, like they could sense the fight was finally going to breakout.

With a growl, Jack swung and … missed, tripping over his feet and falling to the ground. Matt kicked out, catching him in the ribs, pushing him onto his side. When Jack didn't make a move to get up and Steve and Trevor just stood there, not doing anything useful, Matt shrugged and strolled away, cackling in triumph.

"Too easy, Mercer. Way too easy."

Kathy knelt next to Jack, at a loss for what to do, but wanting more than anything to help him. She touched his shoulder and he scooted back from her, like he didn't want her to touch him.

"I'm fine," he said through clenched teeth, his hand grabbing his side.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop fucking saying that. You're always sorry. Always following me around like a goddamn puppy dog."

"Jack …"

"Kathy …" Steve said gently, his hand on her elbow, trying to get her to stand up and move away.

"Just leave me alone," Jack said as he rolled onto his back, his eyes closed, shutting her out of his life once and for all. "Just leave me the hell alone."

XxXxXxXxXx

Steve was silent during the ride home, glancing every couple of seconds out of the corner of his eye at her. Probably worried she was going to break down and he was going to be trapped in the car with a sobbing girl. But she'd moved past tears into a mixture of anger and confusion.

They pulled up in front of her house with a lurch as Steve pressed too hard on the brakes. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"There seems to be a lot of that going around tonight," she said with a tired sigh as she unlocked her door and reached for the handle.

"Look," he said before she could open her door, "Jack didn't mean what he said." She was so used to the flippant, joking Steve that it was weird to see him so quiet, so serious.

She looked down at her lap, her hands clutching her purse, the sequins digging into her skin. "Yes he did."

Steve turned so he was facing her and waited until she raised her head and met his eyes. "Jack's a mess right now," he said.

"What's going on with him?"

"I wish I knew." Steve fiddled with the gear shift, his voice low, like he was telling a secret. "I dunno. I mean, Jack keeps stuff bottled up inside, he doesn't talk and I guess whatever he's been _not_ talking about got the better of him."

"How long has it been going on?" She wracked her brain, trying to remember the last time Jack showed up to school looking sober and healthy and his usual self. Was it weeks ago? Months? Had he been unraveling in front of her eyes while she watched from a distance, not his friend anymore because of a promise she made to her mother?

Steve sighed. "Long enough. Feels like I'm just waiting around to pick up the pieces."

She smiled sadly. "If there are any pieces left to pick up."

"I really am sorry, Kathy." He turned the key in the ignition as she opened the door.

She looked over her shoulder at him as she stepped out of the car. "You don't have to apologize for him."

He shrugged, looking a little defeated. "Somebody has to."

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack couldn't tell which direction she would have gone, but his gut told him to go right. The snow had finally stopped, but it was colder than it had been when they first entered the club and he could see that the slush on the streets was turning to ice.

His boots slipped a couple of times in the snow as he hurried down the sidewalk, his knee threatening to give out on him as he moved faster than he really should. He was scanning the people dotting the sidewalks for a familiar face. It would have helped if she'd worn that goofy hat, but she'd left without her coat, which just underscored how much he'd screwed up.

He found her three blocks away, on an abandoned, snow covered couch that had a sign that said "Free" propped up on the empty seat. He skidded to a stop in front of her, trying to compose himself.

She didn't look up. She was running her finger through the snow, cutting a loop into it. Jack leaned down, about to say something casually charming like, "Fancy meeting you here," when he noticed she'd drawn a heart. His breath stopped for a second and he stared at it, crooked and haphazard and … he didn't know what.

Kathy raised her head, her nose red and her eyes watery, pulling his attention from that heart and the weird tightening it caused in his chest. "Hey," she said and he sighed in relief. At least she was talking to him.

"Hey." He sat down next to her, the cardboard sign digging into his back, the snow soaking into his jeans. "How late is too late to apologize for being a jackass?"

"The statute of limitations runs out in …" She ticked off her fingers, counting under her breath.

"Four years?"

"I think so," she nodded.

"Then I'm made it just under the wire?"

"Just."

She turned to look at him. She was pulling the cuffs of her sweater over her hands as she worried her bottom lip. "Jack," she said quietly, "what if you're not the only one who needs to apologize?"

* * *

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_A/N - I made some edits to the last two scenes. That's what happens when you publish at 4 am and the reread it the next ... well, it was already morning ... so that's what happens when you read it a few hours later. Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. The flashback in this chapter is more than likely the last (you never can be absolutely sure, characters have a way of being stubborn and changing my mind, lol) and there are only a few more chapters left. And I can't believe it's already been a year that I've been writing this story ..._


	13. Chapter 13

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers_ or _Time After Time _by Cyndi Lauper

**Chapter 13**

_If you fall I will catch you_

_I will be waiting_

Jack's hands shook from the cold as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He offered Kathy one out of habit and she shook her head, scrunching up her nose in that cute way she had.

"I'd thought I'd forgotten about it, you know – about that night," she said softly, pulling her legs up, wrapping her arms around them and resting her chin on her knees.

"I don't think I ever remembered it," he admitted. "I was kind of messed up."

"You don't say." She laughed softly but she was staring at the ground, her mouth drawn into a frown. She looked small and alone and Jack inched a little closer to her on the couch. She leaned to the right, letting her shoulder rest against his. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Jack shook his head. "Kathy, you have nothing to be sorry about. I fucked up. I fucked up big time."

"I should have stood up to her." Kathy hooked her finger in her shoe lace, twisting it around her finger.

"Huh?"

"My mother. I should have stayed your friend. Maybe …"

"Maybe I wouldn't have worn that shirt to prom," he said lightly, hoping to make her smile. It didn't work and apparently there was no way to avoid the big fat elephant in the room that had plopped its ass down into the middle their night. "Maybe I wouldn't have fallen apart in high school?"

She shrugged and nodded, hugging her legs tighter and shivering slightly. Cursing himself for not thinking of it sooner, he shrugged off his leather jacket, draping it over her shoulders. The cold air seeped through the thin army surplus jacket and t-shirt he had on underneath, but the cold sharpened his focus and he figured he'd need all the focus he could get to make it through the conversation they were about to have.

He studied his cigarette for a minute, watching as the embers slowly ate away at white paper, inching closer to the filter, leaving ashes in their place. He flicked them onto the sidewalk, watching aimlessly as they drifted onto the snow, melting into the white until they disappeared completely. He'd felt like that in high school – shit, he'd felt like that his whole life – like someone had struck a match and lit a slow fire that ate away at him until there was nothing left but the ashes and the ghosts of a broken childhood.

"Kathy, I was falling apart long before I met you." He hated how his voice trembled slightly, betraying his need to sound nonchalant about the whole thing. Maybe she didn't notice, but one thing he'd figured out that night was that no girl had ever known him as well as Kathy did.

She looked over at him and he could see the pain in her eyes. "No, you were just a –"

"Kid?"

He remembered when Kathy first came into his life. He'd been with Evelyn for a while, felt safe and protected. Felt like he had a chance at a normal life for the first time in a long time. He wore it like a costume - the façade of the typical kid with the usual set of problems and worries and hopes and dreams. He pretended that passing math and finding enough change in the couch to buy a pack of cigarettes were the biggest hurdles he had to overcome in his life. He was so good at pretending and fooling others that he began to believe it himself and he started to forget.

But at some point, it was like someone had jerked the steering wheel out of his hands and crashed him headlong into a wall and everything he'd thought he'd put behind him came spilling out. He sucked at handling it – the feelings and memories too real, too raw. So he did the only thing he could think of, the only thing that made sense at the time – numbed his mind until he didn't give a damn what his past, present or future were. All that mattered was that floaty, hazy nowhere that he escaped to with alarming frequency when he hit senior year.

"You were lost," she stated simply, summing it all up perfectly. "Maybe if I'd been there for you …" her voice trailed off.

"I would have hurt you, Kathy. More than just being a jerk at the prom. We wouldn't have this." He waved his hand at the snow covered sidewalk, nearly empty because it was growing late. Christmas lights twinkled in a few windows, some were strung in the trees lining the street, dotting the night with stars. Everything was quiet, unnaturally so. It was like the night was holding its breath.

"You'd hate me," he said, wrinkling his brow, tossing his cigarette onto the ground, half finished.

She shook her head, glancing up at him, her eyes red from unshed tears. Her smile was wobbly. "Never."

He reached out and brushed his hand through her hair, trailing his finger down her cheek, his chest tightening in a way he couldn't explain. He liked seeing himself through her eyes – in her eyes he was something special, almost golden. He didn't have the tarnish of being a bad kid with a sad life – she never saw him that way. He liked having one person out there in the world who didn't judge him – even Evelyn had that sadness in her eyes when she looked at him, that drive to fix him, to help him. He loved her for it, loved her more than anything in the world, but sometimes he just wished he could be "Jack" – no past, no pain. Clean slate.

His finger grazed her chin, his thumb tracing the bone beneath her skin and he took a deep breath. "I don't think I could live with myself if you hated me," he admitted, meaning every word.

She leaned into him, tilting her chin up until their lips met and she gave him the gentlest kiss, a kiss full of forgiveness and hope. He'd never been kissed like that. Sinking into her, his hands finding their way under the jacket he'd draped over her shoulders, skimming her waist, he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss.

Warm. She was warm and soft and sweet and he didn't want to let her go. His fingers tangled in the fuzzy sweater she had on. Normally, he'd be working his hands up her back, reaching for her bra, trying to hurrying things to the next step. But that wasn't right with Kathy – he wanted the moments, wanted to stretch them out as long as possible. Kissing her made his brain itch to write a song, something quiet and beautiful.

He wasn't sure how long it they'd been kissing before they finally pulled apart, just that it had started snowing at some point. She had snowflakes in her hair and a dampness on her cheeks. She'd been crying. He reached out to touch her cheek but she ducked her head, her breath hitching. "We should get going," she said quietly.

XxXxXxXxXx

They walked back in silence. Jack had his shoulders hunched, trying to ward off the icy breeze and Kathy burrowed deep into Jack's leather jacket. It smelled like him, like leather and cigarettes and she just wanted to wrap herself in it. She couldn't believe she'd kissed him … again. And she couldn't believe she'd stopped it from going further.

Her brain was all in a jumble, with one thing sounding through the white noise loud and clear – he was leaving. Not just soon, not just in a week or two, but that morning. The more she held onto him, the harder it was going to be to let go, but she had to. She had to let him leave. People like her didn't upend their lives in the span of hours, not over cups of hot chocolate and stolen kisses in the snow.

He was going to leave. She would be a memory as soon as the train pulled out of the station and she would be left with a hole in her heart, an aching that she would never fill. She couldn't let that happen. The night had to end now before she dug herself in deeper, before she lost herself completely.

Steve was waiting outside the bar for them when they arrived, her coat tucked under his arm and Jack's guitar case propped up on the wall behind him.

"Thought I was going to have to send out the National Guard to find you guys," he said with a grin. His face was red from the cold and Kathy felt a twinge of guilt for making him wait.

Reluctantly, she took off Jack's jacket and gave it back to him, replacing it with her much warmer parka. She instantly missed the weight and feel of Jack's coat, it was like she was closing a door on their night by taking it off.

"You guys bury the hatchet?"

Kathy blushed and looked at the ground.

Steve laughed. "Well, I guess that answers that question."

"Shut up, man," Jack said steadily, the first thing he'd said since they started walking back.

All three of them stood there awkwardly for a few minutes. A few stragglers left the bar, glancing over at them, drunkenly nodding at Steve and Jack as though they knew them.

Steve rocked back on his heels, glancing between Jack and Kathy. "So -" he started.

"I should take a cab," Kathy interrupted.

"I'll walk you home," Jack said but she shook her head.

"You have to go and get your stuff and get off that leg for a little while." She shrugged, trying to pretend her heart wasn't screaming out to take him up on his offer. "It would be silly to walk me home when I can just get a quick cab ride."

Jack reached out and took a hold of Kathy's elbow, guiding her a few feet down the street and away from Steve. "Kath," he said, looking intently at her, his expression confused.

She pulled on her orange hat, pushing the pompom out of her face with the back of her hand. "Jack," she said simply, looking at the ground – she was really starting to appreciate the sidewalks in New York and the intricate ways in which they cracked and disintegrated.

"I could stay," he said, though she could tell he really didn't mean it.

She finally dragged her eyes off the ground and looked at him, his expression more open and earnest than she had ever remembered seeing it before. She smiled sadly. "You have to get home and see your family. They miss you."

"I know, but --"

"The drum set won't be nearly as funny without you there to watch Jerry's reaction to it."

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Yeah, I know."

"I can't go," she repeated for what felt like the hundredth time that night, though she was getting less convincing with each time.

"This isn't a test. This isn't about staying strong and beating your mother."

That cut deeper than it should have and she took a step back. He followed her and took her hands in his. "You deserve to be happy. I have no idea what's been happening between us tonight, just that it feels wrong to end it outside a bar with Steve watching."

"Hey," Steve called out from behind him and Kathy bit back a sudden giggle that bordered on a sob.

Jack managed to grin, tightening his grip on her hands. "See?"

Kathy stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him. He hugged her back and rested his chin on her head. "I'll think about it," she said, her voice muffled against his jacket. She knew she was lying, but she thought it was what he wanted to hear.

"Promise?" he asked, his voice rumbling through his chest. She nodded, a tear running down her cheek. She sniffed and pulled back from him, looking up as she swiped her gloved hand over her face.

"I promise."

"You're a terrible liar," he said with a crooked smile and then he kissed her again and she could tell he knew it was goodbye.

A cab pulled up to the curb but she didn't want to let go. Jack broke away first, staring at her like he wanted to memorize her. She suddenly wished she wasn't wearing a goofy orange hat. As if he could hear her thoughts, he grabbed the pompom and dusted it across her glasses and over her nose.

"Merry Christmas, Kathy," he said as she took a step back toward the waiting cab.

She opened the back door and looked back at Jack, her smile at odds with the way her heart was breaking. "Happy Holidays, Jack."

XxXxXxXxXx

Kathy sat on her couch, wrapped from head to toe in a blanket as her cat batted at her hand, begging for attention. She stared blankly at the TV, the anchor for the local early morning news droning on about the weather. She'd been up for an hour, after a futile attempt at falling asleep had resulted in her tossing and turning, feeling tangled and trapped in her sheets.

The weather had been replaced by reports of Christmas travelers and she wanted to change the channel, but Horatio was blocking her path to the remote. Sighing, she started at the screen, not listening to the woman as she interviewed people coming and going from the airport and train station.

Kathy glanced around her apartment, taking in the twinkle lights she had thought made everything look so cute, the little tree that she thought looked perfect in her apartment. Now they just seemed sad, inadequate. Like she was trying to put a bow on an empty box.

She wracked her brain, trying to remember what was so important in her life - just why she had to stay. The presents for her family were scattered about, half wrapped and forgotten. The stack of papers that needed to be graded as a favor for her professor were in the spot she'd left them in, untouched. And she had articles to write, deadlines looming. She couldn't just drop all that and run away on a silly whim. Her life wasn't a romance novel. She was practical and reliable and she had people depending on her. People who had lives of their own and weren't sitting at home alone, two days before Christmas with no one to celebrate it with but an ornery cat and a half frozen turkey.

She gripped the mug in her hand, the coffee already having gone cold as she forgot she even held it. Suddenly the perfect little life she'd carved out for herself didn't feel so perfect.

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack leaned his head against the window, watching the people pour onto the train, struggling with luggage and bags of wrapped presents. It was barely dawn, far earlier than anyone should ever be expected to be awake.

He scanned the crowd even though he knew it was lost cause. She wasn't coming.

The conductor came around, asking for tickets, punching holes in them. He had to fish for his, finding it in the pocket of his battered duffle bag. No one sat next to him thanks to his guitar taking up a seat and he was grateful for that. No need to make senseless chitchat and act like a human for the next dozen or so hours.

The train pulled away, leaving New York behind them and he slouched down in his seat, watching as the familiar buildings faded into the distance. His mind kept playing last night over and over again in his head. He couldn't shake Kathy from his thoughts.

So there he was, on a packed train, on his way back home to his family, and he'd never felt more alone in his whole life.


	14. Chapter 14

Note: I don't own _Four Brothers _or _Fairy Tale _by Blue October

**Chapter 14**

_I haven't been quite the same_

_So sure the story of my life would never change_

"I don't see why you waited until now to buy a tree." Jack blew on his frozen fingers in a futile attempt to warm them up. It wasn't working. Detroit, as usual, was fucking freezing.

"Didn't want you to miss out on all the fun, Princess," Bobby said as he wandered around the lot for the third time. Buying a tree on Christmas Eve meant you were left with all the shitty trees nobody else wanted – a fact that was somehow lost on his older brother who seemed determined to find the perfect tree, or in the very least get one for dirt cheap.

"Hey," Bobby shouted at the guy leaning on the makeshift counter the diner had set up in the parking lot. "How much for this one?"

Jack could hear the guy sigh from clear across the lot. "It's marked," he answered, not bothering to look up from the newspaper he was reading.

"I can see that it's fucking marked, but I want to know how much you want for it."

Jack rolled his eyes and looked up at the cloudy sky for some divine intervention. It was going to be a long day. He was barely recovered from the trip home from New York that had been immediately followed by the world's longest Christmas pageant ever. Every grade in Daniela's school performed a skit. Every goddamn one of them. At first it was cute but by the time the fourth graders rolled out their off-key rendition of _Jingle Bell Rock, _complete with interpretive dance, Jack was ready to stab someone with a candy cane.

At least Daniela kept up the Mercer family tradition of never letting an opportunity to make a fool of yourself go to waste. Her class performed _Rudolph_ as well as any group of six year olds could be expected to perform _Rudolph_. Half were terrified and staring at the audience like they were facing down the world's largest firing squad and the other half were singing loudly and two beats behind the woman playing the piano.

Around the time Rudolph started to bitch about being called names, Daniela decided she was going to twirl in place. Around and around and around. Jack sat up straighter in his seat, trying not to disturb Amelia who was asleep in his lap, and he watched, waiting for the inevitable. His niece finally stopped spinning, just as the music wrapped up. She wobbled for a second or two, clearly dizzy and then her legs gave out from under her and she plopped down, butt first, onto the stage.

Bobby jumped up from his seat, clapping loudly and whistling through his teeth. The crowd of parents sitting near them erupted in laughter and Jerry awkwardly reached over Jack, trying to grab a hold of Bobby to force him to sit down. Bobby simply dodged to the left, avoiding Jerry's grasp as he started chanting, "Encore." Angel was standing off to the side in the aisle and he looked over, giving the thumbs up. He'd caught the whole thing on video. It was a classic Mercer moment and it made Jack's long trip home worth it.

Now Jack was wondering if he was about to experience another classic Mercer moment: getting arrested for stupid shit Bobby does. The tree guy was ignoring Bobby and, well, you don't ignore Bobby, that just adds fuel to the fire.

"I asked you how much for the tree," his brother barked a second time.

"And I answered you. It's marked." Jack sighed. Great, tree guy was going to argue back. "You're lucky I don't charge you double for coming out here on Christmas Eve."

Jack took a step toward Bobby. "Let's just get it and go," he said wearily.

"No, I wanna know what happened to this asshole's Christmas spirit? You ever hear of that, jackass?" He stalked up to the cash register. "Merry Christmas? Deck the halls? Fa la la … all that happy shit?"

The guy raised his head, his expression blank. "I'm Jewish."

XxXxXxXxXx

Somehow they were able to make it home with the tree and without having to post bail.

Now Jack was in his room, the door shut, blinds down, guitar untouched across his lap as he stared at the ceiling. He was trying to write a song, the lyrics just out of reach, the tune trying to break free from the clutter in his mind.

Bobby wanted to start decorating the tree right away, but the minute they went into the basement to start bringing up the carefully labeled boxes, Jack felt claustrophobia and panic sweep over him. Maybe it was the box that said "Jack" that did it, the box full of the ornaments Evelyn had set aside for him for when he had a home and a family of his own. She did it for all of them, swearing they would be thankful one day even if they couldn't care less at the time.

He left the basement before Bobby could make some half-assed joke and then he locked himself in his room, surrounded by all the reminders of growing up in that house. He remembered joking to Bobby that Evelyn hadn't changed anything, and it was true – his room was just as frozen in time as hers had been. The posters were the same, the desk, the dresser he couldn't believe at the time was his and only his, the pictures he had on the shelf above his bed, the crap scattered all over the place. He'd been back home for a year, but redecorating hadn't been his number one priority.

He was starting to think he should have toughed it out and not run off to New York back in November. Maybe the whole "It's been a year" thing would have eased over him gradually, instead of smacking him in the face the minute he stepped back into the house. Part of him knew he'd made the right decision, though – in some ass backwards way, running away had made him realize just how screwed up his life was. He'd been standing still ever since he'd gotten out of the hospital, idling in neutral, not caring if his life ever moved forward.

Now he had his music to think about, a career to figure out and …

He sighed, lightly strumming his guitar.

He couldn't stop thinking about Kathy. How could you miss someone after just being with them for a few hours? It didn't make any sense.

He wished Evelyn was there so he could talk to her about the whole thing. She'd know what to do, would help him sort through the jumbled mess of his feelings. If anything, it would give her a chance to say, "I told you so."

XxXxXxXxXx

"Pick your favorites," Evelyn insisted and Jack shrugged as he slumped onto the couch, grabbing a pillow and propping his feet up on the coffee table. She gave him that look – the one that said he was going to have to answer her if he had any hope of getting on with his life.

"Whatever," he mumbled, pulling at the pillow's frayed trim.

She was standing in front of him, knee deep in boxes, holding out a pair of ornaments she had just taken off the tree. It was February and the Detroit fire codes had won out and Evelyn had finally decided to take down the Christmas tree. Jack didn't dare sneak a smoke within a twenty foot radius of the thing because it looked like it could spontaneously combust at any second.

He had a feeling she held onto that tree so long because in her mind taking it down would mean it was time for Jack to leave. He'd wanted to go the second he was handed his diploma, but he'd promised his mom he'd get a job and save some money before hightailing it for New York. He was itching to get his life started, but part of him felt guilty that he'd be leaving her behind in an empty house.

He knew she also wanted him where she could keep an eye on him to make sure he was clean for good. He'd screwed up so badly and disappointed her so completely, but she stood by him, never letting go when he needed her the most.

Because he was the only one left in the house, he'd been "volunteered" against his will to help take the tree down. Jerry had his place with his family, Angel had been overseas since January, and Bobby was … well, Bobby was where ever in the hell he happened to be – he hadn't even bothered to call that Christmas, let alone show up for dinner and presents.

"I want to set aside the ones that mean something to you so that you'll have them for your family."

That stopped his brain in its tracks. _Family_? People like him didn't have families, did they? He couldn't imagine himself coming home every night from work, kissing his wife on the cheek, tucking his kids in for bed, reading them a story or two. Maybe if things had turned out differently, maybe if he hadn't grown up in the system, maybe then things would be different. But he just felt like he was wired wrong; something had been broken in him ages ago and try as she might, Evelyn Mercer couldn't put everything back together again.

He stared at the ornaments in her hands and really studied them for a minute instead of blowing if off like he'd been doing with everything else lately. The one in her right hand was just some random Santa he couldn't even remember seeing before. The one in her left hand Bobby had handed to him that first year he'd been with them, joking that the fairy should put all the fairy ornaments on the tree. It was delicate and pretty and the girliest ornament Evelyn owned.

Sighing, Jack pointed at her left hand and from the glint in her eye Jack knew she remembered Bobby's attempt at breaking the ice with the new kid at Christmas.

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?" she asked and he shrugged again, eyes downcast, shoulders hunched. Carefully sitting the ornaments on the table, she motioned for him to scoot over and make room on the couch so she could sit down next to him. She nudged his arm with her elbow. "What's bugging you today, Jackie?"

"Nothing," he said, his voice tired and flat.

"You never were a good liar, kiddo."

He smiled at that. "It just …" he faltered and took a deep breath. He sucked at these heart to heart things. "It feels stupid to pick out stuff for when I have a family of my own."

She narrowed her eyes. "What's so stupid about that?"

He shrugged for the millionth time, studying the ink under his fingernails from his marathon songwriting session the night before. "I dunno. I mean … guys like me …"

"Guys like you?" Evelyn pushed just like his therapist always did. Last time he had a session, the woman told him she was going grey because of how frustrating it was to get him to talk. He didn't think she was going to miss him when he moved to New York.

Evelyn was staring at him, waiting for him to answer. He closed his eyes, focusing just on the words, forcing them out. "Guys like me don't have the happy endings, Ma. We just don't."

"Jackie," she said firmly, yet quietly. It was that tone she got with him when she wanted him to know he was not a complete waste and that she believed in him. It was a tone he'd heard a lot growing up. "I know it's hard to believe because you're eighteen and you're itching to get out on your own with your band and you have all these dreams to chase, but one day you're going to find someone special."

Jack snorted a laugh. "Right."

Evelyn grinned at him, her eyes crinkling up in the corners. "I am right, sweetie. Trust me. One day. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not in a year. Hell, maybe not in ten years. But one day, you're going to find that girl who is so perfect for you that every doubt you've ever had will disappear." She patted him on the knee. "And she's going to love you for you and not care about your past and your scars and the things you try so hard to hide. That's how love works."

He felt tears prick behind his eyes and he wanted to scream at himself for being such a baby. Keeping his voice steady, he said, "If you say so …"

"I know so."

XxXxXxXxXx

The room was stuffy and warm. Sofi insisted on having a fire lit in the fireplace, despite the fact that Bobby had cranked the heat up to what felt like a hundred degrees earlier in the day. She also wanted the lights dimmed to "set the mood" and then she insisted Jack play some Christmas music. So there he was, sweating his ass off as he strummed his guitar, playing the saddest Christmas song he could think of. He tried a cheerful one at first, but it didn't work.

Bobby groaned and Jack shut his eyes and started to hum, trying to block him out.

"Jesus, Jack, can you at least try for something a little less depressing. Santa just jumped off the roof and Rudolph's got a gun in his fucking mouth."

Jerry sighed dramatically and glared at his older brother. "The kids, man." Daniela and Amelia were playing Barbies behind the Christmas tree and not paying an ounce of attention to Jack and his guitar, but Jerry was convinced they were storing away every curse word Bobby ever uttered in their presence. He was probably right.

"Hey, whatever, Jer – you want your kids to sit here and listen to _The Twelve Depressing Days of Christmas_, that's up to you." Bobby took a swig of his beer, a half full cup of eggnog abandoned on the end table next to him.

Camille walked up behind him, returning from the kitchen with a plate full of store bought cookies. She swatted him on the arm. "It's romantic and pretty. Women like pretty and romantic things, Bobby. You should take notes."

Bobby snorted a laugh. "Chicks, man. You'll fall for anything."

"Like you know anything about women," Sofi joined in, crossing her arms over the swell of her pregnant stomach. She was six months pregnant and Jack couldn't decide if he should be happy or horrified for Angel. Watching the way Angel had walked around in a confused daze ever since finding out he was going to be a father, Jack had a feeling Angel didn't know how to feel about the whole thing either.

"I know plenty," Bobby bit back and Jack coughed through a sudden laugh. Even without looking up, he could tell his brother was glaring at him.

"Why don't we do one present each tonight," Camille interrupted. "Jack, I heard you got the girls something really special."

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack took a long drag off his cigarette, ignoring the cold as he got his nicotine fix. It felt good to be out of the house - the whole family thing was making him feel trapped, like the walls were closing in on him.

His mind drifted to Kathy and her tiny apartment and he wondered what she was up to – if she was feeling just as lonely as he was. He had no idea what was wrong with him – home was home and this was his family and he should be happy to be with them, and he was, but it was a hollow happiness. Something was missing.

The back door opened, flooding the backyard with a very loud and very disorganized drum solo. It slammed shut, but the noise was only slightly muffled. "Hey, Bobby," Jack mumbled, staring at the ground.

Bobby walked over to the tree stump Jack was sitting on, kicking the aged bark with his boot. "So, it looks like we're stuck with moody-Jack now, is that it?"

Jack looked up and squinted at his big brother. "Huh?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that 'huh' shit. You know what I'm talking about. You've been cranky as hell since you got home yesterday."

"So? What's it matter to you?"

"It don't matter to me, but I don't feel like being sent after your ass by every female in this family because they think you need to talk."

Jack was still confused. "You got sent after me?"

"Yeah, and ten bucks says they're watching from the window right now."

Bobby had his back to the house and Jack leaned forward a bit, peering around his stocky frame to get a clear look without being too obvious about it. He blew out a sigh with an exhale of smoke, grinding his cigarette out on the stump. "Yeah, they're watchin'."

Bobby stood there for a minute, staring down at him, an angry look on his face. "Well, talk."

"About what?" Jack wished he was anywhere but there at that moment. Pouring out his heart to Bobby was never high on his to-do list.

"Whatever in the hell is bugging you. It's cold and I want to go inside. So fucking talk before I pound you into the ground."

"Jeez, Merry Christmas to you too." Bobby took a step forward and Jack flinched. "Okay, fine. It's just stuff."

"Stuff? What the fuck kind of answer is 'stuff'?"

"Life stuff. I dunno. I want to talk about this even less than you do," Jack said, pushing off the stump and, shoulders hunched, walking toward the backdoor.

When they got inside, the impromptu rock band was in full swing. Daniela was swaying back and forth, plucking at the guitar strings with all her might. Jack made a mental note to get a supply of strings because he had a feeling he was going to be restringing the poor thing in the not too distant future. Amelia was pounding away on the drums and Angel was laughing and clapping along.

Jerry walked over to Jack when he entered the family room. He leaned close, so Jack could hear. "What did I do to you, kiddo? I thought we got along good. Drums, man? That's just cruel."

Jack shrugged. "Figured I needed backup band."

"Does that mean you're volunteering to keep all this here at your house?" Camille said, rubbing her temples.

"No fucking way," Bobby jumped in. "The drums are going home with you."

Jack was about to add something else when he stopped. There was a sound that definitely wasn't coming from the drums or the guitar. Something out of place. It happened again and he sighed with relief. The doorbell. He could escape, even if for a second.

"I'll get that," he announced loudly over the noise.

"Probably the cops – here to haul Jerry's kids away to jail for all the noise," Angel said with a laugh. At least one member of the family saw the humor in Jack's gift.

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack swung the door open and stopped so suddenly he almost stumbled down the front steps.

"Hi, Jack," the person on the other side said softly.

"K-Kathy?" he stammered, certain his mind was playing tricks on him. But there she was on his doorstep, a cab pulling away from the curb and a suitcase and bags at her feet.

She bit her bottom lip, looking just as awkward and unsure of herself as she had that first day they'd met outside the buses in middle school. "Yep. It's me. Happy Holidays."

"What …" he started, his mind suddenly blank.

"Well, I had the turkey and it was defrosted but way too big for just one person and you had said that Bobby probably forgot to buy one so I thought I would just bring it here so it wouldn't all go to waste, but now I know that was just a silly idea and you have your family and you guys are busy and I'll just be going. The drums sound great by the way; and I'm sure I can just find a hotel that takes cats since I brought Horatio with me since no one was home to watch him and he can't stand to be away from me for even a - "

Jack gave up on waiting for her to take a breath and he stopped her rambling with a kiss. The kiss deepened as she took a step up and he took a step down, her hands grasping his waist and his fingers trailed over the nape of her neck. She moaned softly into his mouth and he grinned as a sense of contentment, of rightness settled over him. Pulling back, he looked down at her. "I missed you," he said and she smiled.

"I missed you, too."

They stared at each other and it took Jack a few minutes to realize that it had grown quiet – too quiet. Glancing over his shoulder, he let out a groan. Everyone, kids included, had their faces pressed against the porch windows, watching the show.

Clearing his throat, Jack said as nonchalantly as he could, rocking back on his heels. "So a turkey and your cat?"

"Yep," she said with a nod. "You don't mind?"

"Nah, not at all. Bobby's allergic to cats, so it's perfect." He took her hand in his and laced their fingers together. "There's this song I've been trying to write," he said quietly, leaning down, his eyes locked with hers.

Kathy tilted her head to the side, the orange pompom on her hat dangling in the air. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Maybe you can help me write it?"

"What's it about? More sad stuff?"

"Nah, not this time. It's about this girl I know."

Kathy's eyebrows arched above her glasses. "Oh."

Running his thumb over her knuckles, he looked at the ground, suddenly feeling like a bashful teenager asking out his first date. He couldn't stop the corny shit that was pouring out of his mouth and for some strange reason he didn't want it to. "She's pretty special," he said. "I think she might be the one."

She took a deep breath. "You don't say."

"Just need some help figuring out the ending."

Kathy reached up and brushed his hair off his forehead. She smiled and finally said, "I think I can help with that."

"I was hoping you'd say that." He held the door open as she stepped into the house and his family immediately swarmed over her. He watched for a second before turning to grab her bags from the sidewalk. Something stopped him, though, a familiar sound he hadn't hear in forever. His mind was playing tricks on him, but then he heard it again. A soft chuckle that sounded just like his mom. He turned and saw her sitting there in her rocking chair, a length of yarn in her lap as she knitted a scarf. She looked up at him, a twinkle in her eye and she winked.

"Told you so, Jackie."

THE END

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_A/N - Yep - it's the end. For real, lol. Thank you so much for reading and to everyone who reviewed and all my friends at GHMB for letting me bug them as I was writing. I'm going miss Kathy, so don't be too surprised if she shows up in stories later on down the road. Now I need to get back to _Write Your Own Song_ and that darn cliffhanger I left it on ... _


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